


Revenge of the Brokenhearted

by dearlyfawn



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Gay Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Isabella is mentioned, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Needles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Torture, Vomiting, do not read this if you aren't caught up!!!!, i rated this explicit for later chapters, kind of a fix-it?, lee/ed is mentioned but dead as hell, the smallest hint of fluff, there is a touch of babitha and jimlee so i hope that's okay with y'all, this directly follows 4x22, toxins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearlyfawn/pseuds/dearlyfawn
Summary: Edward Nygma wakes up in the lab of Hugo Strange following the events that led up to his and Lee’s demise. He is very much alive now, however, and is caught in a room with the psychotic doctor who appears to be injecting toxins into his ex-girlfriend (?) and an incredibly angry Penguin.





	1. Wake Up (With Company)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated t!

Ed woke to the scent of cleaner, chemicals and gunpowder. His vision was blurry as he scanned the room, taking in white, tiled walls and the cool metal of the stretcher beneath him. Ed couldn’t help but think that it reminded him of his own lab during his days at the GCPD. Still, it was larger, colder somehow, and Ed instantly wanted to escape. He tried to move, but the action sent pain through his body, which was stiff and cold, almost dead. With each shallow breath he took, the pain increased.

Glancing to his right, Ed caught sight of an unfortunately familiar face. Two, actually—Hugo Strange and Lee Thompkins.

Ed swallowed heavily. He remembered the feeling of his switchblade between his fingers, the sensation of blood spilling from his abdomen, of Lee’s muscles twitching as he drove the knife in, deep. Of Lee’s lips against his own, the cold hatred that had seeped from her mouth and down his throat. The sensations combined made him as sick as they confused him. Why were they here in some lab? Why were they _alive_?

Lee was sprawled across a cot similar to his own: she appeared unconscious as Strange stood over her, holding a syringe with a mysterious green liquid. Ed let out a soft groan in frustration as he struggled to rise, the effort of doing so exhausting him. Strange practically glowed as he noticed Edward’s consciousness and began to make his way over towards the man.

Gunshots resonated a short distance outside the steel door of the room.

“Oh, no,” Strange drawled, backing away and setting the syringe down slowly. Ed’s eyes shifted towards the door as it swung open, revealing none other than Oswald Cobblepot, who cocked a heavy shotgun. Blurry or not, Penguin was always ostentatiously identifiable. What’s more, he was covered in blood spatter.

“We had a deal, _old friend_. I believe I told you to fix him and the woman, not use them for your sick experiments.” _Fix him?_ Oswald’s lip was raised in a snarl, expression fiery. His voice had taken on a higher, sharper pitch than usual, a surefire sign of his fury. He had eyes only for Strange, who could have caused earthquakes from how strongly he shook. Edward had half a mind to roll his eyes, but couldn’t help his own sense of dread as he squinted in Oswald’s direction.

Ed hadn’t exactly parted ways with Penguin in a positive manner. He glanced down at himself, dressed only in a hospital gown and bandages. He focused, trying to move his stiff fingers. The tips twitched, but his hand lay dormant. Useless. He was useless. Ed let his eyes relax until they were barely open and felt remotely grateful for the lightness of his breath. He could play a good corpse.

Strange cleared his throat. “Now, Oswald, let’s not be hasty—”

Oswald fired the rifle, the shot ringing in Ed’s ears. He winced, but found himself to be unscathed. Oswald had shot Hugo Strange in the leg. The man was on the ground, clutching at his calf, tears springing from his eyes as he screamed. ‘For a man who caused so much pain,’ Ed thought, ‘he truly is weak.’

“I would kill you if I couldn’t use you. Plus, I am almost certain no one truly dies in this town. I am walking proof of that.” Oswald grinned darkly, glancing at Ed, who quickly closed his eyes. He couldn’t argue with that. “No, alas, you’ll have to breathe a while longer,” Oswald announced. He clapped his gloved hands, hugging the shotgun to his chest. The men at his side straightened. “Bruno, Moretti, take this fool from my sight. Bring him back to the Lounge. Strap him down and keep him quiet. I have no desire to hear his voice more than need be.” The aforementioned men nodded before grabbing Strange by the arms and dragging him across the once sterile floor. He begged and pleaded on the way out and Ed had to force away his smile at seeing the man once again be taken down a peg.

“Boss, what about Riddler and his gal?” questioned one thug. Penguin held up a hand, jaw clenching. He visibly gritted his teeth before forcing a smile.

“Check Miss Thompkins’ vitals. I’ll handle Ed.”

On cue, Ed made an effort to look as lifeless as he could. Beneath the heavy footsteps of Penguin’s goons, Ed heard the characteristic gait of Oswald as he limped closer to the cot. Ed forced himself to relax, remembering who he was dealing with. He knew, despite everything, Oswald had to have something to do with why he was still alive. His motives were yet to be determined, but Ed was sure that he wouldn’t hurt him, not yet. Oswald was calculated. He had reasons for everything he did, something Ed had once admired greatly.

Oswald was standing beside him now. Ed could smell his cologne, the scent spicy, musky and intoxicating. It reminded him of long nights in the Van Dahl estate, of drinking wine by the fire, of tightening Oswald’s tie before a big speech. It reminded him of the pain of betrayal and the disappointment of revenge.

Ed heard Oswald slide a glove off and soon felt the warm touch of his finger against his neck. Ed instinctually sucked in a breath as Oswald’s touch pressed against his pulse, eyelids fluttering and heart rate quickening. He cursed his bodily reactions internally and stared up into Oswald’s wide, green eyes.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Oswald whispered, smirking down at Ed as he withdrew his hand. Edward was sure he used those words on purpose, to remind him of his apartment, of the time he saved Oswald and how the man was now doing the same in return.

Ed opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted. “I really am sorry about this,” Oswald said, pressing a needle into Ed’s neck. Ed hissed and stuttered, an invisible weight pushing his breath away and sending him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wish me luck! i am going to try to keep updating as much and as quickly as possible. i'm feeling inspired at the moment, let's hope that lasts!  
> if anyone is interested, i've been working on a playlist for these boys that i've been slowly adding to. you can find it here: https://8tracks.com/dearlyfawn/the-hatred-that-has-hardened-our-hearts


	2. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated t!

_ Cold sea air. Mist rising off the harbor. The chime of a boat vessel signaling its arrival. Edward stared down at Oswald, a man who had never looked so small.  _

_ “Ed? I love you. I know you believe that now, so you need to listen to me when I tell you: by doing this, it will change you.” The man sniffed, pain on his breath and hope dying on his tongue. Ed felt the familiar sensation of his jaw clenching, the pain of betrayal and memory of Isabella’s wrecked car painted across his vision. Oswald was small, so small. A little bird. Worthless. So why was this so hard? _

_ “I’ve killed before, Oswald,” Ed provided, voice cracking as he acknowledged the man’s presence.  _

_ “Not like this! This won’t be a crime of passion, or self-preservation, this will be the cold-blooded murder of someone you love.” Oswald’s eyes pleaded with him. Ed tried to relish the sight of the tears that threatened to escape, but instead felt emptiness, guilt, nausea. He swallowed those feelings and let out a shaky breath. _

_ “I. Don’t. Love. You.” The sentence was clipped and assertive, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Oswald. Edward winced as he saw Penguin, a man he had once respected, sputter and hold back a sob.  _

_ Oswald reached his hands for Ed’s face and, just as it had happened that day, Ed pushed them away. He looked down, unable to face… something. Whether that something was Oswald or himself, he could not determine.  _

_ “You need me, Edward Nygma. Just as I need you. You cannot have one without the other.” _

_ Ed knew the words he had said next. The man had his girlfriend killed out of jealousy, an unforgivable act.  _ That  _ was why he deserved to die. But as he opened his mouth, those were not the words that came out. _

_ “You hurt me, Oswald. That’s why I hurt you. Why I keep hurting you. Why we cannot ever be friends. We will never have what we once did. I wish that things had been different, that it didn’t have to be this way, that I could forget about every good thing we did for each other, that, after all we’ve been through, I could find that I didn’t need you. The truth is, I think that I will always need you. I hate the man that I was on this day, and I hate us for what we’ve become.” _

_ Oswald’s eyes drifted past Edward, something stronger than fear wiping the color from his cheeks. Confused, Ed span on his heels to see a stronger, smarter Oswald. A proud Oswald. An Oswald to be proud  _ of _. The air was colder, frozen. There was the clink of metal, and Ed’s eyes followed the bullets as they hit the ground. _

_ “I removed the bullets when you were knocked out. Right before I called them.” Oswald smiled softly as he pointed. Time moved quickly as Ed stared down the barrel, if one could call it that, of Victor Fries’ freeze ray. It was as if everything was in fast forward, until— _

_ “I know you, Ed. I may be driven by my emotions, but you were driven by something much more predictable—” _

_ “Yes, I know, a desperate, compulsive need to complete what I’ve started in exacting fashion,” Ed interrupted. “You’ve made this speech already, before you froze me and displayed me like some sort of sick trophy.” _

_ “Wrong, Edward. You were driven by fear.” Ed scoffed at this, and Oswald moved closer, his breath fogging in the air. “You were driven by the fear of accepting who you really are, who you could have become. And look where it’s gotten you.” Oswald motioned to Ed’s abdomen, which blossomed with fresh blood and the sting of Lee’s blade. Edward gasped and dropped to his knees, clutching at the knife.  _

_ Oswald knelt beside him, placing his fingers over Ed’s. He ran his thumb gently across Ed’s knuckles before grabbing the blade and wrenching it out of its resting place. Just as fast, he plunged it into Ed’s heart. _

_ “You were afraid of your emotions,” Oswald whispered, twisting the blade, Ed’s vision fading. “So you gave them up,” another twist, “only to find you could have had everything you ever wanted.” Oswald’s voice was tinny, distant, his face blurry. Ed reached out a hand, which the man grasped and pulled, causing the two to collide. Oswald held Ed close and scanned his face before leaning in and capturing Ed’s lips with his own. _

_ Ed was still, the vision fading but the sensation very real. He couldn’t breathe. This was wrong, this was wrong, he didn’t want this, no, no, no. _

_ “But you do,” a voice murmured. “This pain, this emptiness, this hatred that has hardened our hearts is your fault.” _

 

Ed woke with a start, breathing heavily. He was in a room he didn’t recognize, again. Dark panelling, gothic furnishings, plush velvet. He didn’t have to glance at the man beside him to know where he was. The memory of being drugged was enough to confirm his location.

He was sick of Penguin’s face.

The man was resting, his breathing heavy and pronounced, his eyes twitching as he dreamed. Edward clenched his fists. He needed to end this. Fast. He scanned the table beside him, finding a glass of water and a pill, likely a kind of opioid. He downed the liquid, leaving the pill untouched, and held the glass in front of his face. He glanced at Oswald, jaw tightening as he smashed it against the nightstand. The effort exhausted him and glass flew in every direction and nothing mattered because Oswald was startled awake.

“Ed?” Oswald blinked in surprise and then… concern? “Ed, what are you doing?”

Edward held the shard of glass before him, hand shaking. 

“Fuck you,” Ed spat.  _ My fault, my fault, my fault _ . The words echoed in his brain. Ed wanted to wipe his faults from existence, begin anew, to forget. Oswald’s eyes fell as he saw Ed trying to rise from his bed, only to groan in pain. “I’m  _ threatening _ you, Oswald, the least you could do is act scared.”

Oswald sighed and moved quickly, grabbing Edward’s wrist and easily overpowering him. Edward struggled against the grip and used his other hand to weakly punch the smaller man in the side. Oswald took it without so much as a flinch and squeezed Ed’s wrist tighter, shaking it until he was forced to drop the shard that was now covered in his blood. Ed moaned in frustration, trying again to launch a heavy, blundering assault. Oswald caught the other wrist and hushed him. 

Ed was infuriated.

“Let me go! I am not a child.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.” Oswald gently shoved Edward back onto the large bed pressing a hand against his chest. “Are you going to let me clean up this mess, or will I have to restrain you? Mind, I have no desire to do so.” He pressed Edward harder into the mattress. Was Oswald always this strong? Edward felt tired and dropped his hands. He stared at Oswald with little emotion, silent. He bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated to realize that he didn't feel like fighting. Oswald tutted and released the pressure, moving back and using his gloved hand to safely collect the broken pieces. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Bending down and grunting as he put further strain on his leg, he opened the nightstand drawer and withdrew a small bottle of antiseptic. Ed could see that there was little else within; a pen; a pill bottle; tape; bandages.

Shifting his gaze back to Oswald, he watched the man hold the kerchief over the lid of the alcohol, pouring a dab onto the cloth. 

“This will sting. I’d prefer it if you didn’t fight this.” Before Ed could respond, Oswald had his hand in his own and was pressing the handkerchief onto a dripping gash that had formed on Ed’s palm. Ed sucked air through his teeth and squinted his eyes shut. Oswald was silent as he tended to the cut—he allowed Ed that much. 

Ed opened his eyes into a squint as Oswald removed the cloth.  He reached back into the drawer and withdrew a small tube of cream, which he gently applied to the wound before covering it with a clean bandage and medical tape. Satisfied, he crossed to an en suite bathroom and returned with a fresh, plastic cup of water. He held it out.

“Take the pill. I can tell you’re in pain.” Oswald ordered, nodding at Ed's abdomen. Ed didn’t respond, but accepted the cup, placing the pill on his tongue and swallowing. Oswald sat down next to Ed’s bed once more, arms folded with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“What?” Ed muttered through gritted teeth.

“I just find it funny,” Oswald began, “that a man whose life I saved would still attempt to harm me.” He chuckled darkly and shook his head. Edward, for once, had no response and sat for a moment.

“You drugged me,” he stated. Oswald lifted his gaze to look at Ed with an eye roll.

“If that’s cause for attempted murder, you should have been dead a long time ago.” Edward narrowed his eyes: of course that would be Oswald’s defense. He always turned the argument around. It used to provide a fun challenge for Ed during their many friendly debates, but in the moment it was obnoxious at best. With his unharmed hand, he rubbed at his temple, trying to calm himself. He released a heavy breath.

“Why am I here?”

Oswald hesitated. “You were dead, I had you saved, I brought you here. There’s nothing more to tell.” Ed groaned.

“But  _ why _ , Oswald, what motivation could you possibly have for bringing me back?”

Oswald opened his mouth but was saved from replying by a knock at the door. He swiveled in his chair.

“You may enter,” he called, standing and adjusting his waistcoat. A man with shoulders so broad he barely fit through the door entered. Ed was certain he had never seen him before. Where was Oswald finding all these thugs? Certainly not the Narrows. He knew every face, every ugly, depraved figure of the slums. But none of Penguin’s men were familiar. Was he outsourcing? That was new, certainly.

“Well? Spit it out,” Oswald said sharply, tapping his heel twice on the floor for emphasis.

“Strange talked. Said them toxins are from Scare-freak,” the thug replied, straightening at Oswald’s harshness. The aforementioned man rolled his eyes.

“A child could have guessed Mr. Crane was responsible. Any real news?”

“Yeah, I was  _ getting _ to that,” the large man said. Edward watched Oswald’s face, smirking as he saw his eyes twitch at the disrespect, clearly interested enough to refrain from having the man dragged from the room. “Apparently, it’s some sort of freak creator. Like Strange’s experiments at Indian Hill, but in the form of some weird green liquid.”

Oswald responded, but Ed couldn’t hear it. Green liquid? His mind flashed back to the syringe Strange held over Lee’s body, glowing green and half-injected. He shot up just as Oswald was waving off the thug.

“Where is she?” Ed gasped, grabbing Oswald’s sleeve with his good hand. Oswald’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Who?” Ed wanted to slap him.

“ _ Lee _ , Oswald. Where is she? If you hurt her—”

“Might I remind you, Ed, you killed her. And she you,” Oswald muttered, grabbing Ed’s hand in return. “Still, no harm came to her. She is resting in the room adjacent to this one.” Ed hit him away and stood quickly, wincing as he felt a painful twinge in his stomach. “Ed.  _ Ed _ . Sit down, you’ll hurt yourself further—”

The door was thrown open dramatically, causing the two men to freeze. A slim figure entered the room. She wore a form-fitting black gown and a smile.

“Hello, Riddler,” Ed winced, staring at Lee’s mocking eyes as she leaned against the doorframe. “Oswald.” Penguin sneered and stepped between her and Ed. 

“Ms. Thompkins,” Oswald grumbled before raising his voice and clasping his hands together sarcastically. “Fantastic to see you on your feet. Don’t trip over them on your way out.”

“Of course I’ll go, but first…” She waltzed forwards, hips swaying sensually. Ed’s eyes widened as she closed in, a predatory look on her face. “I just need to speak to Ed.” Oswald didn’t move. “Alone.”

“What, to let you kill him again? No thanks, friend. If you have anything to say, say it now. Otherwise, leave.” Ed tried again to move forward but was held back by Oswald. He grimaced and Lee sighed. 

“All I wanted to say,” she murmured, stepping closer, bypassing Oswald and pressing close to Edward, “is that I have no regrets.” 

Ed took a breath and felt his lips curl into a small smile, before she held up her finger. “No, no. I have no regrets for how I _used_ you. You see,” she pressed her lips to Ed’s cheek. “I never cared about you. Ever. How could I, after all that you did to me?” He tensed, becoming paler by the second. Oswald put a hand on Lee’s chest and pushed her back a foot. She ignored him, but kept her distance. “If I could go back, I’d do it all again,” Lee said, winking before turning on her heels and leaving the room, door slamming behind her.

Ed was breathing heavily, digging his nails into his palms. Oswald turned to him in concern. 

“Ed…” Oswald hesitated before placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. 

A wave of nausea swept over Ed as the pain medication kicked in. He couldn’t stop himself as he bent over, vomiting promptly on Oswald’s shiny, expensive leather shoes. 


	3. When I See You Cry, It Makes Me Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m for violence!

Edward had to admit—it was nice to be taken care of.

For the past three weeks, Oswald had been a concerned yet distant caretaker. He respected Ed’s boundaries and gave him plenty of space. Perhaps too much space. The first week, Ed spent much of his time alone in the bedroom, stretching his muscles and reading. His body was exhausted and stiff, taking days to improve. Oswald went so far as to bring in a physical therapist, who left Ed with a series of exercises to complete each day, finally leading to his gradual improvement. Still, he saw little of Penguin, who seemed to be avoiding him following their last encounter. Sometimes, he would wake up in the morning to see that Oswald had left a note on his bedside table, usually with reminders of where things were, numbers to call should he need anything and a description of his meals for that day.

The only times in which he would see Oswald were the evenings, where he would briefly stop by to ask about how Ed was feeling, usually bringing with him a cup of lemon tea. Ed felt annoyed at first, but began to slowly open up and answer the man, who had really given him no reason for mistrust. Ed even found himself smiling as they talked: it was hard not to. Penguin’s eyes softened every time he did and it was easy to fall back into their old dynamic. Until memories would flood back and harden Ed, reminding him of why they were no longer friends. The conversation would fizzle out, always ending the same way.

“Why are you doing this?” Ed would ask, staring at the man with confusion. His face soured with it.

“Goodnight, Ed,” was all Oswald would say, ignoring any of Ed’s protests as he disappeared behind the door.

God, it was frustrating.

Following that first week, Ed spent hours walking around the living quarters which were located above Oswald’s new and improved Iceberg Lounge. Improved in Ed’s eyes mainly because he wasn’t a block of ice anymore, but a guest.

Above the main floor of the Lounge there was a glass balcony. Ed often walked along it, watching patrons mill around below, ordering their cocktails and watching whatever live entertainment Oswald had hired for the evening. 

It was decidedly boring. Edward’s fingers itched for something challenging outside of the mundanities that came with his quiet, lonely recovery. He made up his mind: he would walk down and see what the club was like.

The stairway leading from the balcony to the main floor was blocked off with a velvet rope and guarded by two intimidating bouncers. Edward tapped one on the shoulder as he made his way to the landing. The man whipped around, surprised. 

“Nygma? The boss said that you were—”

“Recovering?” Ed offered, grinning. The man nodded, folding his arms.

“I can’t let you in here. Penguin says it’s a bad idea.” Ed rolled his eyes.

“Penguin thinks everything I do is a bad idea,” he responded.

“And if I do?” came a voice from behind. The illusive Oswald stood a few stairs higher, one hand on his cane, the other supporting his weight against the wall. Ed’s face fell at being caught. He should have predicted it.

“You can’t hold me like some sort of prisoner.” Oswald stared at him and shook his head in response.

“You’re not a…” he bit his lip and looked down before continuing. “Please, come upstairs. There is much we have to discuss.” Ed moved to argue, but decided against it. The thought of finally receiving answers was too alluring. He complacently followed Oswald back up the staircase and into the suite.

On his bedside table sat the familiar mug of tea along with a box of takeout. Edward smiled fondly, recognizing it as coming from his favorite Chinese restaurant. The scent of vegetable lo mein filled the room. Edward crossed to sit gracefully on the bed, grasping the container and chopsticks and digging in. Oswald sat down in the adjacent chair, wincing. Edward followed his motions, not having to ask to know that his leg was bothering him. He decided not to comment and, setting the food back down, sat awkwardly.

“I’m not quite sure how to begin,” Oswald confessed, glancing at Ed before staring back at his hands.

“You could begin by explaining why you helped me. We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”  _ My fault, my fault, my fault _ , he thought.

“Yes, well.” Oswald took a breath. “Let’s start with that, shall we? After everything we went through, after you risked your life to protect me, after I gave up my revenge for you, after all of it… you betrayed me, again.” Oswald said it with little emotion and Ed looked away. “I thought in that moment that I could finally start to trust you. Both as  _ The Riddler _ ,” he spat, “and as a friend.” Ed opened his mouth to respond, but Oswald put up a hand as if to say ‘You’ll get your chance.’ 

“What did you betray me for? A woman who was using you. You locked me away to prove your love to her.”

“I told you then as I tell you know, I held no grudge against you,” Ed murmured.

“Do you think that matters?” Oswald yelled. He blinked as if to calm himself, lowering his voice. “I have tried to hate you so many times. I have tried and tried and you keep crawling your way back into my head like a parasite. Jesus, Ed, I couldn’t even kill you! I had you frozen and kept by my side!”

“You say that as if it didn’t hurt me,” Ed retorted, a shiver running up his spine at the memory.

“Hurt, but still living. Because I couldn’t bare the thought of you being dead and buried in the ground like everyone else who I’ve ever—” Oswald’s voice cracked and he broke off. Ed noticed Oswald was shaking, and that he was too. There was an overwhelming desire to reach out for the man, to console him. Still, Ed clenched his fists tighter and let out a quivering sigh.

“When I heard what had happened, that you and Lee killed each other, I tried to let you go. But I was angry. I was angry that you, one of the strongest and most intelligent men I’ve ever known, succumbed to such a cliche fate. I was angry that you let her destroy you, destroy everything you had worked for.” He swallowed, lifting his head to look into Ed’s eyes. “And still, after everything, I couldn’t let you go.” Oswald sniffled and a tear rolled down his cheek. Edward clenched his jaw, feeling his heart thaw and eyes water. Still, he let Oswald speak.

“I am no fool. I know that you will keep turning me away, keep betraying me, but I still can’t let you die. I am not too proud to admit that I need you, Ed. I will always need you. Even if we are destined to be no more than enemies, I can live with that because you are still in my life. That is all that matters to me.” Oswald looked down and wiped his eyes, unable to continue. Ed didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat.

“That… explains why you saved me. But Lee?” Oswald smiled sadly.

“When last I saw you, you told me that if I ever came against Lee, I would be coming against you. As much as I question your taste,” he said, grimacing, “I have no doubt you would have killed me had I left her. I had one of your girlfriends killed before and that didn’t work out so well for me. I didn’t wish to be responsible for another’s demise.” Ed winced as if hearing the shot that sounded from his own gun. “I regret it.” Oswald whispered, before leaning closer for emphasis. “I saved her for you, and for no other reason.” Ed found himself leaning forward in return. Oswald had admitted his wrongdoing. If Ed was being honest, Oswald's wrongdoings were no worse than his own. He reached out a hand but stopped as he heard the sound of someone clapping.

“Nice speech, Oswald. I’m sure Ed is  _ touched _ .”

Tabitha Galavan. Her voice was sharp and hysterical, her face wild. Oswald immediately got to his feet and grabbed a knife from his pocket.

“How did you get in here?” he screeched, brandishing the blade in front of him. Ed stood by his side, equally shocked.

“Oh, it didn’t take much with Riddler’s ex on my side,” she said with a laugh. On cue, Lee appeared from behind her, expression unreadable.

“No,” Ed whispered, feeling in his pockets for anything he could use to fight. They were empty. He felt bile rise in his throat as he stared at the woman he had been so enamored with, now feeling only hatred. That’s when he saw Lee’s eyes, which had taken on a green glow. The same green glow emitted from that toxin. 

“You know, Oswald, I actually felt remorse when you saved my life. But then you shot Butch in the head and I knew I did the right thing all that time ago when I killed your mother in your arms.” Oswald was seething and began to move forward when Tabby raised a gun. “Ah, ah, Oswald. That’s not how this works.” She circled the man, keeping the gun pointed square at him. “You see, you took the most important person in my life. Me taking your mother, that wasn’t enough.” Her eyes flicked to Ed, who took a step backwards, startled. “I’m going to take everything from you,” she stated before quickly turning in Ed’s direction and pulling the trigger. 

Ed closed his eyes waiting for the impact.  It didn’t come. He opened them and saw Oswald laying before him, gasping and holding his stomach. Ed stared in horror and bent down, grabbing him in his arms.

“Oswald? Oswald!” He felt his hands shake as he pressed them against Oswald’s, holding the pressure.  _No._

“Shit. Go!” Tabby screamed and disappeared, with Lee following suit. Ed watched them go, itching to chase after them, to stop them, to make them pay. He felt Oswald’s fingers twitch beneath him and he glanced down, tears in his eyes.

“Damn it, why did you do that?” he whispered, hearing Oswald’s breathing become more and more ragged. 

“Couldn’t… let you die…” Oswald answered, pained. Ed glanced one last time at the door before closing his eyes and responding.

“Yeah? Well I can’t let you, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry, it will get better, just not before it gets worse.  
> this chapter title comes from Lily Allen's song "Smile"


	4. Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m for violence, blood and needles!

Edward set the golden pen on the nightstand, glancing over the third draft of his letter to Oswald.

It still wasn’t good enough.

Frustrated, Ed crumpled it and threw it in the general direction of the trash can. It missed, landing on the windowsill. He had no desire to retrieve it and put it in its place with his other failed attempts to come clean. To apologize. To explain.

Standing and pacing the bedroom, Ed fought the urge to look at Oswald’s still-unconscious form. Ed's arms were folded, calloused fingers digging hard into his forearm. It hurt, but not enough to distract him from the memory of Oswald’s wails before he had injected him with a sedative.

_Oswald held tightly onto Ed’s muted green jacket, fingers slippery with blood. He hissed in pain as Ed lifted him onto the bed. Oswald grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes, trying to stop from crying. Ed began unbuttoning the man’s jacket, cursing under his breath at the ridiculous amount of layers he wore. He barely paused as Oswald attempted to push his hands away in protest._ _  
_

_“Damn it, Oswald, I need to see the wound,” Ed scolded, continuing to undo the buttons as fast as possible. Finally fed up, he spied Oswald’s knife on the floor. He picked it up and raised it above Oswald, who shrieked._

_“What are you doing? Get away!” Oswald was trying to crawl back on the bed despite his frailty, shaking in fear. Ed shook his head in dismay, hesitating only a moment before slicing through the clothing, careful not to cut more than fabric. His heart sunk as he felt Oswald shake in fear under his touch._

_To reassure Oswald or to make himself feel less terrible, Ed threw the knife to the side and placed a gentle hand on Oswald’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb in circles. Oswald calmed slightly, opening his eyes. Satisfied, Ed peeled off Oswald’s undershirt, shirt, vest and jacket, wincing as he saw the enormous amount of blood. Oswald wailed at the feeling of open air on his wound, gasping._

_“Hurts…” he moaned, tears pricking his eyes._

_“We’ll have to work quickly,” Ed whispered, whipping open the drawer. Oswald’s wails grew louder and louder and Ed found it hard to think. Hidden in the back was a small vial and a syringe. Ed picked it up and examined it: he recognized it as a strong sedative. The correct dosage injected into the veins would knock a grown man out for close to an hour, plenty of time for Ed to remove the bullet and cauterize the wound. Get it wrong, and there could not only be serious complications, but Oswald may not wake up, ever. Ed shuddered._

_Filling the syringe carefully up to the hundredth of a milliliter, he turned back to the crying Penguin. He tried to smile down at the man in a way that seemed encouraging and hopeful, but likely just came across as anxious. Oswald stared into his eyes, gritting his teeth in pain. Ed carefully brushed a sweaty, stray hair out of the way and plunged the needle of the syringe into Oswald’s neck. He watched Oswald’s eyes dim and his features relax as his veins soaked up the liquid._

_No going back now, he thought._

Ed shook his head to rid his mind of the memory, to shake the scent of Oswald’s burnt flesh from his nostrils. At least he had stopped bleeding, for now. Ed glanced at the abandoned fire poker as he paced, cringing at the way it had glowed in his hand as he pressed it to Oswald’s cleaned, disinfected wound. Oswald was lucky the bullet hadn’t hit anything major, having stopped shallow enough. It still, of course, took time for Ed to locate it: the blood made it difficult to find. When he found it, he placed it on the bedside table, before returning his attention to the hole it had left in its wake. Ed would have liked to have sewn it properly, but there was simply no time, and he wasn’t going to risk letting Oswald down after everything he had done to help him.

Glancing back at the aforementioned man, Ed bit his lip, feeling it bleed as he peeled off dry, dead skin with his teeth. If Oswald didn’t wake up soon…

Ed clenched his jaw. _Not. Now. Focus._

Crossing back to the bed, Ed lifted the covers gingerly to look at Oswald’s bandages. It had been no more than ten minutes since he had last checked, and the bandages were equally stained. Not significantly, but blood was there nonetheless. Reaching into the drawer, Ed pulled out the last roll of bandages before sitting next to Oswald.

Grabbing him and lifting him into a sitting position, Ed placed a hand on Oswald’s lower back, gripping one end of the bandage and beginning to wrap it around. Oswald’s cologne permeated through the scent of blood and sweat and Ed inhaled deeply, remembering how just moments before all of this, they were having their first real conversation. He tried to replay it in his mind, tried to remember all of Oswald’s quirks. How his nose twitched when he was feeling emotional. The way his eyes shone as he apologized. The small smiles he gave, the first in a long time that hadn’t felt either menacing or self-deprecating.

Oswald stirred in his arms and Ed felt like he forgot how to breathe. Ed's hands shook as he continued to carefully wrap the bandage around Oswald, tight enough to apply pressure but not too tight to hurt. He felt the smaller man shiver and heard him groan. He nearly jumped as he felt fingers clutch into the fabric of his vest. Oswald had rested his head against Ed’s shoulder, breathing heavily but, much to Ed’s relief, steadily.

Securing the bandage, Ed held him a moment longer than he needed to, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the feathery softness of Oswald’s hair against his cheek. Then he released the little bird, easing him back onto the bed. Ed stood, only to find Oswald had grabbed his arm. Ed huffed, fighting away the smile that tugged at his lips.

“I’m just getting some pain medication for you. I’m right here,” Ed said, reaching pointedly into the drawer to retrieve the pill bottle. He opened and shook it, letting a single dose fall into his hand. He handed the pill to Oswald, who placed it on his tongue. Having grabbed a fresh glass of water earlier, Ed pulled Oswald’s head off the pillow before tipping the lip of the glass into his open mouth. Oswald shivered again, eyes tired, face warm. Having finished the entire glass, Ed motioned that he was going to refill it before crossing to the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the large, gold-encrusted mirror. He noticed droplets of blood spattered across his shirt and face. Cupping his hands under the faucet, he let them fill with lukewarm water, flushing it against his cheeks, eyes and neck. When he dried his face, however, he heard that familiar chuckle.

‘Oh, Edward. You keep doing this.’

Ed’s fists clenched as he stared back at his reflection, sporting that familiar bowler hat. “Doing _what?_ ” he hissed, frustrated. This was the last person he wanted to deal with right now.

‘This! You’ve found a new flame, like you always do. You can’t seem to live without one. And this one… this is one you’ve been denying yourself a while, isn’t it?’ Riddler said, smirking as he gazed past Ed, back into the bedroom.

“If you’re referring to who I think you are, then no. He’s not a _flame_ , he’s not anything. I owe him my life. In fact, I owe him many of my lives. The least I could do was try to settle the score.”

‘Please,’ Riddler responded, laughing and waving absently, ‘You held him, half naked, in your _arms_. The last, I don’t know, three people you did that with? Where are they now?’

Ed swallowed heavily, fighting the urge to smash the glass, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “I was bandaging him,” Ed muttered, not entirely sure why he was bothering to argue.

‘Uhuh. And what about these?’ Riddler held out the discarded notes Ed had written for Oswald. Ed gasped and reached his hand forward, before remembering that none of this was real. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I don’t need you. Not now. I’m going to figure this out on my own.” Ed turned on his heels and heard his reflection laugh as he exited the bathroom with the refilled glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't everything i had planned for this chapter, but i wanted to get something out so you aren't all dying. i hope to have the next part up asap!  
> also i am no doctor. i tried doing research on sedatives but i couldn't find the information i wanted and also i wrote this at one in the morning, so i just kept it vague. please don't hate me lol i tried.


	5. Toxic Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m for some violence and torture, look out folks.

Ed felt Oswald’s eyes on him as he crossed back to the bed, setting the glass down on the table. He knew he was frowning, still annoyed with his other self. He tried to make his expression lighter, with little success.

“How are you feeling?” Ed asked. He took in Oswald’s face: his cheeks were tinged with an intoxicating red that spread onto his nose, his eyes glittering with an expression resembling hope or… something. Not wishing to think longer on it, Ed looked away. Oswald stared at him a moment before responding.

“It is not the most comfortable feeling, being shot in the stomach. Still, it is familiar.” Ed flinched at the man’s words. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Oswald corrected, sighing. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Ed wanted to say he had nothing to be sorry for, because that was the truth. He held his tongue, nodding minutely. To his surprise, Oswald let out a shaky laugh before wincing in pain.

“I was just thinking,” he explained. “Our roles seem to have changed.” He nodded at the glass on the table. Looking away once more, he whispered:

“Thank you.”

Ed’s eyes widened and he abruptly rose from his chair, hearing it scratch against the hardwood floor. He immediately turned and walked to the door, shaking.

“Wait! Ed!” Oswald called, sounding confused. Ed kept moving, feeling sick. _Don’t thank me,_ he thought, hesitating only a moment before pushing open the door and walking into the hallway. He paused there, hearing Oswald’s disappointed call.

“Don’t go.”

It took all of Ed’s control to stop himself from returning. Digging in his heels, he continued towards the staircase leading to the club. He wanted to scream as he saw Riddler on the top step. He brushed past the apparition without stopping.

‘Was that your way of figuring it out?’ he said, following Ed quickly down the stairs.

“Be quiet,” Ed hissed. Still, the man remained unmoved.

‘You heard him. He wants you in his life. He didn’t want you to leave. He probably still loves you. We can use that,’ Riddler said nonchalantly, skipping to stand in front of Ed. Ed rolled his eyes, stepping to the right. Riddler followed him and Ed flapped his arms in front of him, walking pointedly through the figure, watching him vaporize. Against his better judgement, he paused on the next stair, and responded.

“Oswald has been used by me, _hurt_ by me too many times. And still, he forgives me, _thanks_ me. It’s so frustratingly _stupid_. This would all be so much easier if he had left me as I was.” Ed closed his eyes, feeling his head hit back against the wall.

‘Right. Because no one we know has ever done something stupid for love.’

Ed opened his eyes to find the stairwell empty. He hit a fist against the wall. Even if that were true, even if Oswald did still love him as he suggested, Ed was certain he did nothing to deserve his dedication. At every opportunity, Ed had turned his back on the man. And now Oswald was _thanking_ him? Ed couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand what he had become. Worse, he couldn’t stand the thought that perhaps he was always this person, someone so willing to hurt the man he loved.

Wait. No.

‘You said it,’ he heard Riddler whisper.

Ed shook his head, clearing it. Squaring his shoulders, he continued down the stairs, reaching the same red velvet rope. The Iceberg Lounge was empty, cups abandoned, some jackets still draped casually over the backs of chairs. It had likely emptied the moment Tabitha Galavan entered with Lee.

None of Penguin’s thugs were standing guard. Clearly they were incompetent. Ed stepped over the rope, walking to the center of the club. Glancing towards the corner, he finally spotted a group of three men, huddled and talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. One of them spotted him and quickly broke away. The others followed behind him, just as fast.

“Mr. Nygma! Mr. Nygma! We didn’t mean to cause no harm, it was your ex, we swear! She did some mind control thing and—”

“And scared us out of our skulls. We’ve been talking and we all saw something different, our worst fears. We had to do what she said, she wouldn’t stop! That bitch is crazy, I swear! We tried—”

“We tried to resist her but it was like she was magic or something, we just froze and couldn’t move. Is the boss okay?” They talked over each other again and again and Ed found himself getting angrier and angrier. Fear sounded like Scarecrow’s M.O., mental manipulation Fish’s. Perhaps the combination of the two was Lee’s own, more recent development? Still, Ed had seen her eyes glow. He was certain all of this connected to the toxin.

As soon as the thug mentioned Oswald, however, Ed lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar, tugging him closer. Ed’s eyes blazed and he wanted nothing more than to squash this idiot into the dirt, but he held him fast, the other men looking on in fear. What did they care for Oswald? They didn’t. They only cared about a paycheck. It made Ed sick and he tightened his grip, satisfied as he felt the man’s fingers scrape against his, trying to break free.

“If you want to be helpful, you’ll let me analyze the toxin and you’ll take me to Strange. Now,” Ed spat, holding him a moment longer before releasing, watching the color slowly drain from his face as he gasped for air.

“Yes, yes, anything, Mr. Riddler, sir,” the thug breathed. The other two placed concerned hands on his back while he recovered. Finally, he straightened and murmured a small “follow me.”

The three men led him to a hidden panel behind the bar made up of shelves. They input a code on a nondescript keypad that glowed faintly with the bar lights. Ed vaguely registered it as 314415. The shelves opened to reveal a steep staircase, bottles of liquor jingling as it creaked into place.

The stairs groaned under their weight as the men descended. At the bottom was a lab. It was somewhat dusty, but certainly up to date. At any other time, Ed would have felt excited about all the technology laid out before him, but he was on a mission. He grabbed two rubber gloves from a box on a nearby table, slipping them on with a snap.

“Stay here. Touch nothing,” Ed instructed the men, who gulped and nodded. Towards the back, Ed spotted a small cooling chamber and saw ten toxin samples in secure, labeled test-tubes. Grabbing one, he held it in front of his eyes as he examined the way it glowed. Looking for slides, he found a box near a high-powered microscope. Picking one up, Ed dropped a minute amount of the toxin onto the glass. He grabbed a coverslip and watched the liquid spread beneath it. Flicking the switch on the microscope, he placed the slide securely within before pressing his eyes to the scope, adjusting the lenses to focus.

The light emitted from both the microscope and the toxin itself hurt his eyes, it was so bright. Ed found he couldn’t discern much else from looking at it this way. Looking around the rest of the room, Ed grinned as he spotted a gas chromatograph, the device used to analyze the chemical makeup of compounds. Grabbing the rest of the vial, Ed crossed to the machine and carefully extracted the remainder of the mixture using a syringe before injecting it into the entrance of the column. Turning on the flow and carrier gas and setting the program to run, he knew the process would take time. An hour at least.

“You,” Ed said, pointing to one of the three men. He stepped forward. “Come over here and watch this. Scream if it beeps, glows or does anything other than what it’s doing now. And again. Don’t. Touch. Capisce?” The man nodded quickly, standing beside the machine and staring at it intently. Ed rolled his eyes before turning back to the other two. “Take me to Strange.”

Ed was led down a narrow hallway off of the lab to a secure door with yet another pin. This one was 204696. The door was thick metal. Sitting beyond it in a desk chair was Strange, who swiveled with eyes growing ever wider at the sight of Ed.

“Hello,” he said softly, swallowing. “What can I do for you?”

Ed ignored the question. “Restrain him,” he said. The thugs rushed forward and moved Strange to a chair with leather straps. Tightening them, they backed off and stared expectantly at Ed, waiting for further orders. “Leave us. Stand outside the door. I’ll knock when I’m finished,” he said. He didn’t look back, taking the slam of the door and the halt of footsteps as evidence of their complacency.

Ed reached into his pocket, producing from it Oswald’s knife. He tossed it from hand to hand, feeling its weight. Strange recoiled at the sight.

“If I weren’t in such a hurry, I would have brought something bigger. Something more fun. Still, I can do plenty of damage with a small thing like this. I suggest you answer my questions in full.”

“I would assume, Mr. Nygma, that you need me alive. Therefore, I will answer what I see fit.” Ed closed in on the man, impatient, fingers itching. He drew the blade down the man’s cheek, watching as dark red blood trailed in its wake.

“I know I can figure out what I need to know by myself. You are easily exposable. Unlike Oswald, I see no use for someone such as you. Still, you are the faster option and I would rather not waste my time. So,” he smirked, watching the man shiver. “Let’s begin, shall we? What, exactly, does the toxin do? For example, what did it do to Lee Thompkins?”

“I have answered all that I know. Had I been given more time to test it, I could tell you more,” he responded indignantly. Ed’s eyes narrowed. _Not good enough,_ he thought, _he’s lying._ Glancing at Strange’s hand, which was gripping the arm of the chair tightly, he brought the knife down hard on the man’s index finger, taking joy in watching it fall to the ground. Ed appreciated a sharp knife. Strange howled in pain, hand spasming. Not yet satisfied, he stabbed the blade into Strange’s thigh, careful to avoid the artery he knew ran down it. Strange screamed louder and bit his tongue in the process. Blood spilled from his mouth. Ed returned the blade to Strange’s face, this time pressing it firmly into the opposite cheek. A small drop of blood dripped to the floor.

“Let’s try this again. What does it _do?_ ” Ed shouted. Strange moaned in response, blood drenching his sleeve.

“It,” he breathed, “enhances the innate ability of the subject and turns it into something more, shall we say, supernatural, unpredictable, unstable. It further heightens,” he gasped, twitching as Ed drew the blade down further.  “Heightens the strength of the individual, making them more likely to withstand normally fatal attacks. With Ms. Thompkins, the toxin seems to have picked up on her cunning and talent for manipulation, her ability to play on people’s desires and fears. She is now able to create blind, fiercely loyal followers. An army, one might say. She has become… the ultimate leader.”

Ed pulled the knife away, thinking a moment. It would make sense, given what the thugs had expressed and what he knew of Lee. Glaring down at Strange, he was positively disgusted by the man. He would do anything to save his own skin. Ed pocketed the knife.

“Thank you, you have been most useful,” Ed smiled fakely at him.

Unable to stop himself and not wishing to, Ed punched Strange hard, feeling his fist connect with the man’s jaw. He heard it crack and, as he pulled his hand away, saw that his knuckles were darkening fast.

Turning away without a second thought, Ed knocked on the door and was quickly released. The thug on the left’s eyes widened.

“Jesus, what did you do to him?” he asked.

“That? Oh, nothing except persuade him to give me more information. You might want to bandage him. Oswald won’t be happy if you let him bleed out.” The man on the right rushed back into the room, stripping the small bed of its sheets, tearing them into bandage-sized strips. Ed chuckled darkly.

The minute Ed walked into the lab, the thug he had left behind was bouncing from foot to foot as the machine beeped. Ed rushed forward, shoving him out of the way. Luckily, the beeping simply signified that the sample had been processed to the extent that it could be.

He waited as the results appeared on the screen: Hydrogen. Oxygen. Technitium? Ed’s brows drew downward in confusion, turning off the flow of the machine and the gas. Albeit in the smallest concentration, what was a radioactive element doing in there? An element known to be used in gamma ray imaging. X-rays. It stuck to growing bones, making them visible. In small, short-lived isotopes, the element did little but make a person’s skeleton glow in pictures.

Ed thought a moment about what this could mean. For the glow to seemingly continue and emanate through Lee Thompkins’ body, it would have to have a longer lifespan, therefore heightening its instability. Ed swallowed: just like with Strange’s experiments, Lee would begin withering away as she made use of the toxin’s granted abilities. Ed hypothesized that it would begin in the bones, imagining her slowly disintegrate. He shivered at the thought, before remembering what she had done to him.

 _To Oswald_.

Once she realized what was happening, she would be searching for Strange and the cure. Ed stood immediately, running up the stairs.

“Clean that up,” he called over his shoulder to the thugs, who grumbled in response. They appeared to be tired of taking his orders. No matter. They wouldn’t be coming with him.

Sprinting through the club, Ed jumped the rope and took the stairs back to the bedroom two at a time. He burst through the door.

“Oswald, we need to leave, Lee will come bac—” Ed cut off. Oswald was holding a crumpled piece of paper in his lap, hands shaking. Ed recognized it immediately: it was the note he had written. The note containing things he couldn’t say. He felt his breath quicken as he took in Oswald’s wide eyes. The man looked up, opening and closing his mouth. Tears ran down his flushed cheeks. Finally, he spoke.

“Is this true?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, i have to be up in less than five hours and instead i'm posting this.  
> another cliffhanger! the chapter is a bit longer this time, though. i hope my frequent posting makes up for the dark content of this story lol.  
> as far as the science goes, i did the best i could to research it and take what i know already. i'm bad at chemistry, though, so i apologize if it's not perfect.  
> update: this is not on hiatus, i'm just busy with work! i still have to plan out the next chapter, but i will try to get it up asap


	6. But I Still Loved You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated t!

_ “Is this true?” _

Ed swallowed heavily, hands shaking as he remembered all that he had written. His confession lay in Oswald’s hands, as did his heart.

_ Oswald, _

_ I’m writing this while you are still unconscious, to keep my hands busy. I keep looking at you: you seem peaceful, and that scares me. Terrifies me.  _

_ I don’t know what I’d do if you stay as you are now. I know that you will wake soon, I know it, but if I keep looking at you, if I can’t find a way to distract myself, then I know I will succumb to my anxieties.  _

_ Still, I write this to do more than distract—I write to confess. There is so much I haven’t told you, Oswald, so much that I haven’t even told myself. This is my third draft, because every time I try to say what I want to say my fingers freeze and everything is wrong, my speech garbled and broken. Unbecoming. But I’m trying. _

_ It is rare that I am at a loss for words. In all the time you’ve known me, I’m sure you will agree on this fact. And yet, here I am, rambling. I don’t know where to begin. _

_ ‘What I want, the poor have, the rich want, and if you eat it you’ll die.’ That was the first riddle I asked you. Do you remember? It wasn’t true. I wanted everything from you. _

_ It started with fascination. I remember hearing your name whispered around the GCPD with a mix of fear and reluctant admiration. You were ambitious, an umbrella boy who was rising, taking, killing. Who had risen from the dead. Even I couldn’t find material to track your kills back to you: careful, methodical, these were qualities that immediately intrigued me. _

_ When I saw you enter the station that day, looking around for Gordon, I felt giddy at the prospect of meeting you. The sun lit up your face, and I must confess… I felt something. _

_ I can be broken or attacked, I can be clogged or crushed, I can be given and I can be kept, sometimes I am warm and other times I am cold. What am I? _

_ (A heart, Oswald).  _

_ I wanted my heart in your hands. _

_ I suppose I thought we may have had something in common, some sort of fateful connection. I thought ‘yes, this is a man who will see me for who I am.’ When you looked up at me, my hope faltered. Your gaze was so cold and I ached to impress you, to warm you. But I walked away, because I was Just Edward. And Just Edward didn’t have a place by your side. _

_ Of course there was a part of me that recognized my infatuation towards you, but I pushed it aside. You were a man. I was raised to believe that the pursuit of such a relationship was wrong, sick. That concept had never been a problem for me, until I met you. I broke down, convinced myself that I felt nothing but professional admiration towards you.  _

_ The same thing happened when I found you in the woods and brought you back to my apartment. I had to look away as I undressed you and wrapped you in my pajamas that were too small on me. When we got closer, became friends, my feelings towards you were overwhelming. I wanted nothing more than to ravish you and be ravished in return. But again there was that itch, that self-hatred in my heart. Arkham came almost as a relief at first, a chance to get away from my emotions, from you. I again convinced myself you were no more than a friend. _

_ It was even harder when you made me your Chief of Staff. You had been kind to me, kinder than anyone I had ever known. I grew acclimated to your touch, craved it. I let myself think, for just a moment, that perhaps you shared my feelings. _

_ ‘I cannot be bought, but can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?’ _

_ I believed in you, Oswald. I always did. What you lack in physicality you make up for in intelligence and charisma. And a fair bit of threatening. Still, people admire you, fear you. I was talking about how the public loved you, yes, but I thought, hoped, that you would recognize I was also talking about how I… felt. _

_ But you didn’t. I made myself believe that the way you looked at me was all in my head, that each time you told me you had something important to tell me, it was work related. When you wanted to have dinner with me, I again fought with my heart. _

_ Then, of course, there was Isabella. I loved her, Oswald.  _

~~_ But I still loved you. _ ~~

_ I thought she was my second chance to be with Kristen, to live the sort of life I was raised to live. Marry, settle down, have children. It clicked, it felt right, and she was someone I didn’t hate myself for loving. I told you about her because I thought you would be supportive, because I thought you had marked me as a friend. _

_ When she died, I felt as though I had lost everything. My feelings towards you had been locked away. I had just become satisfied with my plan for a normal life when that plan was ruined. When I discovered that you were responsible, I thought I hated you. Perhaps there is a part of me that still does hate you. Hating you is easier than loving you. _

_ I hated you because you took away my power, my option of choice, because you never told me how you felt, because you betrayed me. I hated myself both for having fallen for you and for having done nothing about it. I blamed you for weakening my mind with love and thought that killing you was the only way to be free of my emotions.  _

_ Something just broke after you fell into that dark water, after I had caused you so much pain. I missed you. I missed you so much, I got high just to see you again. I took drugs so often, I couldn’t remember what it was like to be sober. _

_ When I saw you again in the Court of Owls, I couldn’t remember the hate I was supposed to feel, at first anyway. I remembered only what I loved; the way you looked when you were angry; how your eyes flashed in defiance; how you could even make a jumpsuit look fashionable. But when you reached through those bars, I saw the malice in your eyes and knew that that was the end.  _

_ I think the biggest question you must have for me is this: why would I protect you from Sofia, only to betray you in favor of Lee? I ask myself that too. I didn’t know, at the time, why I couldn’t just tell Sofia where you were. That certainly would have saved me a lot of pain. When I was being tortured, it clicked. Even then, I loved you. After everything. I couldn’t stop loving you. After that point, I let those idiots take me to the pier to shoot me. I could have hatched some sort of plan of escape, I’m sure, but I didn’t care. When you saved me, like you have so many times before, I just felt empty. There was a part of me that craved death, that thought I could finally be free of you. So it goes. _

_ My infatuation with Lee began as a distraction from you. While a voice in my head told me that I didn’t love her, I shouted over it that I did. I almost committed suicide to prove to myself that I loved her. Before I fell asleep, I would repeat ‘I love Lee, I love Lee, I love Lee,’ over and over in my mind until I believed it. I knew she was using me, I was not stupid. But it was the love I thought I deserved and so I took it. That was why I betrayed you. It was a way for me to solidify this persona I had concocted for myself.  _

_ Those are the things that I wish I could say about the past. These are the things I hope to tell you in the future: _

_ I’m sorry. I never forgave myself for loving you. When you admitted that you needed me, I knew I still needed you too. I hate what I have put you through, I hate that there is no way to fix what I have done. I hate that you keep forgiving me. Sorry isn’t enough. I was weak then. _

_ So what am I now? _

_ I am sometimes powerful, I am sometimes complex or deep, I can be blind, lost, or profound. _

_      Love, _

_ Edward Nygma _

Ed swallowed heavily, unsure of what to say. He felt his lungs seem to shrink as it became hard to breathe. It was one thing to write all of that, another to admit it out loud. He just stared into Oswald’s expectant face, heart pounding. He had never felt so afraid.

As if able to translate Edward’s expression into language, Oswald nodded, clutching the paper tighter before slipping it into his pocket. When he finally broke the silence between them, the question was unrelated.

“Why are you covered in blood?”

This shook Ed from his reverie. He glanced down at his suit, grimacing as he saw that it was flecked with blood. Oswald narrowed his eyes and Ed thought that if he were standing, he would be tapping his foot impatiently.

“I had a conversation with Strange,” Ed answered carefully.

“Conversations don’t usually result in blood spatter, Ed,” Oswald replied. Despite his tone, a smile played at the corner of his lips. 

“Perhaps it went a bit further than talking, but the point is,” Ed took a breath, “that I know what the toxin is. What it does, what it means. It puts us in danger. Lee will come back here. It isn’t safe.” Ed paused, waiting for Oswald to take that in. “We can talk about everything later,” he continued, emphasizing ‘everything.’ “Right now, our priority should be getting out of here.”

Oswald returned his gaze before nodding stiffly. Pushing the blankets off of him, he tried to rise from the bed, wincing in pain. He was still shirtless, the bandages obscuring the lower half of his torso. Ed quickly rushed to his side, hovering nervously. He scanned the room, eyes landing on his abandoned jacket, which lay on a chair near the bed. He grabbed it and carefully threaded Oswald’s arms through the sleeves. Oswald groaned at the movement, the pain medication wearing off. Still, he looked appreciatively at Ed. The jacket hung off of his arms and shoulders comically, but it would have to do. 

“Do you think you can stand? You can lean on me,” Ed whispered. Oswald gave him a look that was impossible to read.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. Edward wrapped an arm around Oswald’s back, helping him rise to his feet. Oswald grunted and let out a heavy breath. Ed grabbed Oswald’s cane and handed it to him so that he could be supported on both sides. Finally, he reached into the drawer and took the pill bottle containing the pain medication and the remainder of the bandages, shoving them in his pocket. Turning his face to look down at Oswald, he whispered in his ear.

“Where do you keep your cars?”

Oswald pressed closer to Ed, leaning his head against his shoulder. Quietly, tiredly, he responded.

“When you are in the Lounge, there is a door to the left side. Go through it, there’s a long hallway. At the end, there is a keypad. The code is 51407. Through there is a garage. The keys are in a hidden panel in the wall. I’ll show you once we’re there.”

“Okay,” Ed murmured. He took a deep breath. “Let’s try to walk.”

They exited the bedroom with little problem. He could feel Oswald begin to tire as they walked out towards the landing. His weight pressed more heavily against Ed’s side, and Ed tightened his grip around the man. Just as they lifted their feet to step onto the staircase, Oswald slipped in Ed’s arms. Ed caught him and looked at his face. His eyes were fluttering, struggling to stay open.

“Oswald? Oswald?” Ed tried lightly tapping on the man’s cheek and was met with little response. He was drifting out of consciousness, unable to walk. Ed sighed heavily to calm himself before lifting Oswald and his cane. The man was surprisingly light and fit snugly in Ed’s cradling arms.

At the bottom of the stairs, Ed kicked the velvet rope out of the way, wincing as it clattered to the tile floor. His footsteps echoed on the cut stone  as he waltzed towards the center of the Lounge. He hadn’t noticed how high the ceilings were before. He began to walk in the direction of the doorway Oswald had described when he heard a sliding noise from the bar. Whipping around, Ed was mildly relieved if not annoyed to see that it was Penguin’s men exiting the basement. They took one look at Oswald draped in Ed’s arms and rushed forward .

“What’d you do to him?” the main thug asked, poking an accusatory finger into Ed’s chest. “Boss? Boss?” he yelled. Ed rolled his eyes, setting Oswald down gently on a nearby chair. 

“He is unconscious, but stable. Or, as stable as he can be after your pathetic attempt at counteracting Lee Thompkins,” Ed spat. The thug before him ground his teeth, folding his arms. “The point is, I treated Os… Penguin’s wounds. I am moving him to a more secure location.”

“Like hell you are,” another thug said, standing on his tiptoes to match Ed’s height. The men beside him nodded vigorously, circling Ed, cutting him off from Oswald. Ed put up his hands in a display of innocence.

“Look, I have no desire to harm Penguin. Your boss and I have hashed out our differences long ago. I am simply looking out for his safety. I will take him with me whether I have your approval or not.” Ed narrowed his eyes. “It would be wise of you to listen to me. Unless, of course, you want to be responsible for his death and in turn force me to dispose of you, the trash he left behind.” Ed’s eyes grew dark. He couldn’t hide his smirk as he watched the men shift uncomfortably at his threats. Despite everything, The Riddler had made quite a name for himself.

The men turned to each other, whispering amongst themselves. Ed moved back towards Oswald protectively.

“You couldn’t save him before,” he added. The thugs finally came to a decision, their resolve crumbling.

“Alright, Riddler. Have it your way.” Ed smiled.

“Thank you for seeing reason,” he replied, lifting Oswald back into his arms.

“One last thing,” the smaller thug said quietly. Ed turned to look at him impatiently. “Where you taking him?” 

Ed stared for a moment before turning away. “Can’t risk telling you,” he said over his shoulder, whistling as he walked towards the garage. 

The hallway leading there was long and wide, decorated with dark wood paneling. Upon reaching the door with the keypad, Ed carefully held Oswald with his knee and left hand while inputing the code with his right. 51407. Beep, click, the door swung open. 

The garage was unimpressive as a room. It was large with solid cement on the walls and floor. The only decorations were the cars, of which there were three. One was a spotless black Mercedes: it was long with tinted, bulletproof windows. The next was a white SUV, similarly immaculate but otherwise unremarkable. The last was a nondescript convertible sedan. 

The Mercedes was the obvious choice, at least for exiting the building. Ed knew they would need another car, but he was handy and knew he could hot-wire one if necessary.

Setting Oswald down against the wall of the garage, Ed ran his fingers along the cement, knocking gently. Finally, he heard a hollow sound and pressed against the spot. As he did so, a panel in the wall slid open, revealing three hooks with keys labeled for their corresponding vehicle. Ed snatched the one he wanted before unlocking the Mercedes. Lifting Oswald once again, he placed him in the passenger seat, grunting as he lifted his legs over the ledge of the door-frame. Oswald had his mouth open as he slept, shallow but steady air escaping and entering his lungs. Ed smiled slightly before buckling the man into the seat, adjusting Oswald’s arms to make him comfortable when he awoke. 

As Ed shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, he realized he had no idea where they could go. Lee knew all of his safe-houses, Oswald was still rebuilding, and Ed couldn’t think of anywhere where they couldn’t be traced. He bit his lip as he started the car: he hated being without a plan. But a plan would have to wait.

Ed looked to the visor of the car, seeing a clip on button that opened and closed the garage door. Pressing it, he smiled as he put the car in gear, peeling out onto the street. Ed chuckled: the car was damn fun to drive.

His smile faded, however, as he entered the pile of rubble that was now Gotham City. Entire buildings were gone, made up of debris and dust. The sun was starting to go down, and instead of seeing the daunting skyscrapers looming above him, Ed saw only the orange glow of the sunset. 

Gotham had become a ghost town, an apocalyptic snapshot. It was difficult to even navigate, the usual landmarks having disappeared. The few buildings that weren’t demolished were surrounded by drunken lunatics, laughing and yelling obscenities into the darkening sky. 

“So,” Ed whispered. “Jeremiah Valeska was successful after all. Seems not even James Gordon could stop him.” He shook his head and drove faster, weaving through dark alleyways and following the city grid as best as he could remember it.

Grundy Street was much the same, with the exception of the streetlights, which had all been shot out or felled like trees. Ed saw his old apartment building loom before him and slowed, pulling into the side street just off of it. 

“If I park here, Lee will assume we have been hiding out at my old place. She’ll figure out we’re not there before long, but it will at least buy us some time,” Edward explained, glancing at Oswald. The man was still unconscious. Ed sighed.

‘Still talking to yourself, Eddie?’ 

Ed glanced in the rearview mirror at Riddler, who grinned devilishly. 

“That’s none of your concern,” Ed muttered, opening the door and shutting it quietly before shuffling down the street in a crouch. Riddler appeared before him, leaning against a rusted yet salvageable station wagon. 

‘This is perfect, no? No one would expect Penguin to ride in something this… distasteful.’ Riddler slapped the metal of the vehicle playfully, laughing. ‘No one will miss her, anyway.’ Ed rolled his eyes, but had to agree that the car would work sufficiently. He certainly didn’t have time to look for another. 

Crawling towards it, Ed tested the door. Locked. He reached into the breast pocket of his vest, pulling out a pen. He broke off the metal hook before looking around his knees in the dirt. He could pick a lock with one tool, but it would certainly be easier and faster with two. 

‘Looking for this?’ Riddler mused, kicking an abandoned safety pin in his direction. Ed picked it up, straightening it before jamming the two instruments into the lock of the car door. It took several minutes of jimmying and twisting before the satisfying click resounded. He again tried the door before sighing in annoyance. It was stuck. Pulling Oswald’s knife from his pocket, he wedged it in between the door and the frame. Sliding it down against the hook of the door, he pushed against it, finally forcing the door open. The knife was sturdy and the door somewhat pliable, meaning the knife hadn’t bent.

Ed glanced back at Oswald. He was safe. Ed returned to his work. 

The steering column of the vehicle held the wires he needed. He unscrewed a panel using the knife as a screwdriver, eyes following the bundles of wires that fell from it. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what he knew about cars. Each make and model had a different color combination that pertained to the ignition, starter and battery wires. Normally, one would have to consult the Owner’s Manual or risk electrocution. Yet there was something about this car that was familiar.

‘We saw one while we were still at the GCPD, remember?’ Ed did remember. He had investigated a hit and run; the car that had been used was a stolen station wagon nearly identical to this one, just without the rust. It had been tampered with, a fact Ed had ascertained simply by glancing inside. He grinned; he still remembered which wires had been wrapped together. Still, Riddler felt the need to talk him through it.

‘Red is battery. That’s obvious and common.’ Ed groaned, wanting to say that he knew, but of course he knew. It was his subconscious repeating the facts to him. He shut his mouth, cutting the insulation of the red wires down by about a half an inch before twisting them together. ‘Brown is the ignition,’ Riddler said, smirking. Ed stripped the insulation down on that one as well before wrapping it around the battery wires. The car turned on, making a soft beeping noise. The display on the dash glowed a faint orange. 

“Yes!” Ed whispered excitedly. 

‘Calm down, you’re not going anywhere yet,’ Riddler said with an eye roll. ‘Yellow is the starter. Strip it and touch it to the other bundle. Keep your hands on the insulation. You get shocked, I get shocked.’

“Yes, I get it,” Ed muttered, exasperated. Riddler evaporated from his view. Returning his attention to the remaining wire, he stripped it and gripped both bundles in either hand. He held his breath as he touched the tips of the wires to each other, watching sparks fly at the contact. 

Nothing happened.

Gritting his teeth, Ed closed his eyes.

_ Please, please, please, _ Ed thought. He glanced one more time at Oswald’s form in the abandoned vehicle. He pressed the wires together.

Spark.

The engine roared to life. 

Ed smiled wildly, remembering to rev the engine while the car remained in park to prevent it from stalling. It worked. He glanced at the gas in the tank: it was about 75% full. Ed grinned at his luck, before rushing back to Oswald. He hurriedly unbuckled the man and pulled him from the car. He shut the door and locked it before carrying the man to the waiting vehicle. Securing him in place, Ed climbed into the driver’s seat, put the car in drive and backed out of the street, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

He didn’t know where they were going, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that it was him and Oswald against the world. For the first time in a long time, Edward felt content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! to make up for it, this one is a bit longer and also... has a tiny hint of fluff!!! you can interpret all of Ed's shitty actions throughout the series as him being in denial if you try hard enough lol.  
> and yes, i did research how to hot-wire a car. my search history is a nightmare.  
> anywho, hope you enjoyed it, i'd love to hear your thoughts! not sure when the next chapter will be up yet, but i'm trying my best to come out with them quickly.  
> update: next chapter is on its way, i'm working 6 days a week and had to run errands on the 7th day, so i've been crazy busy. i'm about halfway through chapter 7, it should be here in the next couple days!


	7. Crimson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated t!

Ever since Oswald had read his letter, Ed had been overwhelmed with emotion. Love and excitement, yes, but also fear, pain, regret. The minute Oswald had learned about Ed’s feelings, they became somehow undeniable, fixed, permanent. That scared Ed more than anything ever had.

He gripped the wheel of the station wagon tightly, his knuckles turning white, as he glanced at Oswald’s resting form. His head was leaning against the back of his seat, a small spot of drool escaping from his pink lips. Oswald let out a light snore, which made Ed smile ever so slightly. Training his eyes back on the road, Edward scanned the road signs that led out of Gotham, hoping for something, anything that would give him an idea of where to go. He caught sight of a smaller brown sign with yellow lettering, directing visitors to Gotham State Park. Ed’s eyes flashed, remembering the night he buried Kristen in that forest, subsequently finding Oswald.

Ed always liked to think of that day as his first true meeting with Oswald. The other, at the GCPD, had been nothing more than a fluke, an embarrassment. Not worth remembering.

There was something attractive about the forest that Edward couldn’t explain. He knew it would be foolish to return anywhere near where Kristen had been left, but Gotham State Park was enormous, stretching on for almost 50 miles. Ed took the right turn that the sign signified, still not positive what he was looking for.

He drove on for a while, alone with his thoughts. This wasn’t necessarily all bad, as it meant Riddler was keeping out of his head. He took comfort in the fact that everything around him was real and vivid, from the purr of the engine to the green pines. 

He thought about what Oswald would say to him when he awoke. How would he respond to the letter? Ed tapped his fingers against the wheel anxiously, imagining the worst, yet most likely, outcome. Oswald would be horrified by Ed’s confessions and would not understand why Ed had done what he had if his feelings were so strong. He would be unable to trust Ed, calling him a liar or a hypocrite. All of which was true, making the image in Ed’s mind even more anxiety-producing. Yet there was another thought, a concept that Ed had and would never speak into existence. 

The thought that Oswald still loved him, would be willing to work on this, to fix everything. That, of course, didn’t mean Ed wanted his forgiveness. He didn’t: the thought of Oswald absolving him of his tresspasses frankly made him sick. And yet, the concept of being able to remember but rebuild was incredibly seductive. Perhaps there was a very slight chance that his admissions would not have been in vain and would have served the purpose of allowing him and Oswald some semblance of happiness. Ed took another look at Oswald and wondered what it would feel like to have him look at him with those same eyes he did when he was mayor, when Ed was weak and foolish and cruel. 

Just imagining it made him grin with hope. Whatever happened, at least Oswald knew. As nerve-wracking as it was, a large part of Ed was relieved that everything was out in the open. No more lies. They would find somewhere, they would be safe, they would talk. Everything would be okay.

Thirty minutes passed, however, and Ed began to grow nervous, scanning for somewhere, anywhere, he and Oswald could find refuge. 

‘Ahem,’ came a voice from behind him. Ed rolled his eyes as he looked in the rear-view mirror, seeing Riddler.

“What?” Ed muttered, teeth clenched. 

‘Up ahead, to the left. Do you see that?’ 

Ed turned his eyes away from the man and, sure enough, saw something glittering on the edge of the road. Something metal. Furrowing his brow, he slowed down and pulled next to it. Hopping from the vehicle, he saw that it was a rusted metal sign advertising a place known as the Crimson Family Campground and Lodging. According to the faded lettering, the campground was just a mile ahead of where they were. Ed gasped at his luck, hopping back in the car. Riddler was staring at him expectantly.   


“What do you want, a thank you? You are me,” Ed said impatiently, glaring his hallucination. Riddler simply shrugged.

‘I do appreciate the recognition.’ There was a pause, and then, ‘you’re going to miss the turn if you don’t slow down.’

Ed pressed down on the brake as hard as he dared, trying not to jostle Oswald if he could help it. He groaned as he heard Riddler’s laugh before turning onto a dirt road. The station wagon bounced, and Riddler was gone. 

The dirt road seemed to stretch on for quite some time, but was probably only a couple of minutes. Finally, Ed saw two rows of cabins facing each other on either side of the road, followed by what appeared to be a rather large lodge at the road’s dead end. If the coast was clear, that was to be his and Oswald’s temporary placement. If not, well, Ed would have to make it clear.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, pulling up to where the cabins began and putting the car in park. Oswald seemed to stir, but simply rolled over in his seat, face smushed against the window, nose bent. Ed held back a laugh and gently shut the door. He reached into his pocket, grabbing the knife that remained there. 

Gripping the blade tightly in his right hand, Ed walked from cabin to cabin, searching for any signs of life. He found a nest of mice burrowed in one of the mattresses, but otherwise the cabins were much the same. Each contained a bunk bed, electrical plug and regular bed, as well as some simple furnishings; a rug; a table; a potted plant; drapes. In several of the cabins, Ed found stale granola bars and bottles of water that seemed to have been laid out for future guests, but the layer of dust on them told Ed those guests had never arrived. He collected what he could, anyway, unsure what kind of supplies he would find in the lodge. Not that granola bars would last them forever, but it was a start until Ed figured out where they could get more food.

As he finished searching the last two cabins and found little of note and certainly no people, he returned to the car, giddy with excitement. 

Shifting back into drive, Ed pulled the car around to the side of the lodge in between a series of bushes and shrubs. Tucked to the side and peaking out from a grate that led beneath the house was a forgotten green tarp. Ed yanked it out and used it to cover the car. It did little to camouflage the ugly vehicle, but it would have to do. 

Reaching underneath the tarp to the passenger door, he opened it and had to catch Oswald, who had been leaning against it so heavily that he immediately fell forward. Ed pushed him gently back into the seat before nudging him. After a couple moments of prodding, Oswald stirred and opened his eyes. He looked groggy and distant, but once his eyes focused on Ed, they immediately widened and his breathing quickened. 

“Where am I? Where did you take me?” There was a sense of panic in Oswald’s voice that made Ed’s heart sink into his stomach. Oswald was shaking, moving backward in the car towards the driver’s seat. Ed was hesitant to move closer, not wanting to make Oswald panic more, but he needed him to understand that he wasn’t in any danger.

“Oswald,” he began, careful to keep his voice soft and calm. “It’s just me. You’re safe. We’re safe.” He held out a hand which Oswald shied away from. His breathing had started to slow, but he still looked confused and anxious. He tried to turn away and exit out the opposite door, but Ed quickly moved into the passenger seat and grabbed his hand. Oswald turned back to look at him and flinched, stunned into silence. Ed gave his hand a gentle squeeze, rubbing his thumb over the man’s knuckles.

“Oswald, please, calm down. Please,” Ed whispered, staring deeply into Oswald’s eyes. Oswald swallowed and shuddered, pulling his hand away.

“Don’t,” Oswald mumbled, looking away. Ed’s face fell and he nodded stiffly, looking down at his own hands, now empty. To his surprise, he felt a light, hesitant hand on his shoulder and met Oswald’s eyes again. He seemed calmer, but there was still something tense, something closed off about him. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he looked tired. 

“We’re in Gotham State Park,” Ed said after a moment. “We’re at, and I quote, the Crimson Family Campground and Lodging, ixnay Crimson Family.” Ed wasn’t worried about the lodge containing any hiding individuals: the cobwebs surrounding the door frame, the rotting of the stairs and the lack of other vehicles anywhere in sight led him to believe that the place was long abandoned. Backing out, Ed held the door open for Oswald, who poked his head out tentatively. Ed reached into the back seat where he had left Oswald’s cane and held it out to him. Oswald grabbed it, before looking at the vehicle in which he was seated.

“What happened to my car?”

“Oh, we had to leave it behind. It could be traced. If anyone had seen it, Lee would have been able to get the information out of them and track us down.” Ed didn’t miss Oswald’s flinch at Lee’s name.

“And where did you get this… thing?” Oswald asked repugnantly. 

“I stole it from an alley near my old apartment,” Ed answered truthfully. “That’s where I left your Mercedes. I figured that if Lee was already on our tail, that would buy us some time. She would check the obvious places first.” Oswald nodded and looked at the ground. He opened and closed his mouth several times, finishing his sentences before they even started. Finally, he spoke.

“Will you help me inside?” he said quietly. Ed felt a spark of hope in his chest and rushed forward, wrapping his arm around Oswald’s waist as he helped him to rise. Shutting the door with his foot, Ed carefully led Oswald to the entrance of the lodge.

Upon entering, they were greeted by a large stone fireplace, pine wood panelling, several couches and chairs, a deer trophy on the wall and a rifle on the fireplace mantel. 

“How… rustic,” Oswald commented, wrinkling his nose in apparent disgust at the decor. Ed rolled his eyes. Both of them had certainly been in worse places. Still, Oswald’s design sense seemed to take over regardless of the situation, a trait that, although mildly annoying, was quite endearing to Ed. 

Ed helped Oswald over to the nearest couch. Oswald sat, breathing a heavy sigh of relief, grabbing his stomach as he winced in pain. His fingers clutched onto the velvet material of Ed’s jacket, which he was still wearing, and his cheeks colored. 

“You haven’t found any clothes, have you?” Oswald asked. Ed shook his head.

“I haven’t had a chance to look, yet. I’ll search around now,” Ed promised, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the bottle of painkillers. He opened the lid and emptied one of the tablets out into his hand before holding it out for Oswald to take. The man placed it on his tongue and swallowed it dry, cringing as it went down his throat. Satisfied, Ed gave Oswald a small smile before turning from him to investigate the main floor of the lodge.

The living room was large and open, with vaulted ceilings and a deer-antler chandelier. To either side of the fireplace was a door. Ed crossed to open the one to the left, noting a small bathroom with dingy tiles, a toilet, a sink and a spotted mirror. No clothes. 

Back in the main room, Ed struggled to avoid looking at Oswald. The man was sprawled across the couch, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Ed tore his eyes away and opened the door to the right of the fireplace, taking in a kitchen and small pantry. The kitchen was rusted and dirty, but the appliances were good and there was enough space to cook for an army. Ed didn’t understand why: clearly the Crimson Family Campground was not awfully successful. Certainly, they didn’t need to prepare for more than a couple of guests. Ed shook his head at the poor planning as he walked around, opening cupboards. 

The first few he opened were empty, but as Ed opened the door to the pantry, his face lit up. Inside were cans and cans of beans, pork, vegetables, soup, anything that would keep for a long time. Additionally, there were some assorted crackers which were surely stale, some boxes of pasta and several bags of flour. Ed emptied his pocket of the five granola bars and the water bottle he had collected, placing them on one of the shelves. There was enough food there to last them for a couple months, if they rationed it well. Ed grinned and examined the rest of the kitchen, finding cleaning supplies, tea bags, rotten fruit and a few more cases of canned food scattered about. In one cabinet, he even found a few bags of ramen noodles. The fridge and freezer were empty except for a few rancid condiment containers. No matter, the fridge and freezer didn’t seem to be working anyway. Perhaps there was a generator on the property? Ed would have to look for that later. 

After exiting the kitchen, Ed made a beeline for the stairs. They led up to a loft area that was visible from the main floor and was decorated much the same. Ed theorized that this was likely part of the living quarters for the family who had owned the place. Ed entered the first room off of the loft on his left. 

The door creaked open to reveal a bedroom. It appeared that the Crimson Family had simply up and left: there was a queen-sized bed that looked as though it had just been made, if Ed were to ignore the thin layer of dust that sat atop it. Papers were scattered across the nightstand that sat beside it. Upon closer inspection, Ed discovered it was a list of debts; IOUs; bills. 

Ah. That would explain it. Whoever lived here had likely run out of money, grabbed the essentials and changed towns, leaving their property and name behind. Of course they wouldn’t have stayed nearby, partially because of debt collectors and partially because Gotham was blown to smithereens. Of course while the campground was safe, the owners had no way of knowing that without risking coming back and losing everything to the bank anyway. 

Turning his eyes away from the nightstand, Ed examined the rest of the room. The beige floral wallpaper was gaudy and had the fashionability of an old woman. The lamps were crafted to match the wallpaper, with off-white glass shades adorned with pale pink roses. The area rug on the floor had the sort of antique rose pattern that one associated with the Rococo era. The quilt on the bed was the only plain item in the room, a soft golden color. 

On the wall opposite the bed was a small wardrobe. Ed opened it, frowning as he saw it was empty save for a women’s faux fur jacket and a pair of men’s work boots. The boots could barely be referred to as such, considering the soles were worn down and there were holes in the toe. The jacket was moth-eaten and smelled of mildew. Ed didn’t understand why, given that there didn’t seem to be any moisture coming through the wall or the wardrobe itself. Perhaps it had just been shoved inside following a storm? Ed closed the wardrobe.

Regarding the room once more, Ed looked down at a moderately-sized trunk at the foot of the bed. It took a couple of strong tugs before the trunk finally heaved open, revealing a heap of clothes inside. Ed pulled the contents out and laid them on the bed to sort through. 

The majority of the items held within the trunk were typical of outdoorsy people—flannels of all different colors, khakis, a variety of jeans, a couple heavy men’s jackets, a trapper hat, wool socks and some plain undershirts. In pawing through the assortment of fabrics, Ed found a dark green, plaid flannel. It was a size large, Ed’s size. He smiled slightly and separated it from the rest of the clothes, examining the sizes on the pants. To his surprise, there was a large assortment of sizes for each type of clothing, which made Ed wonder if the previous owners simply took whatever they could get and hoped that it would work. Or, perhaps, this was a lost and found bin? That wouldn’t make sense: why would it be in their bedroom? Ed shook his head and decided not to question it, finding a pair of khakis in his size. Normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing pants such as these, but he would take what he could get, at least until he found a way to wash the blood out of his own pants. 

Setting his new outfit off to the side, Ed continued his search for Oswald’s sake. He had to guess on the clothing sizes and eventually found a couple options he wasn’t so happy with, and one that he was: an indigo colored fleece button-up and a pair of dark gray fitted jeans. It was unlike anything Oswald had ever worn before and Ed had no idea if the articles would even fit him, but God, he hoped they did.

Ed changed quickly into his new outfit, giving himself a once-over in the spotted mirror by the bedroom door. He smoothed a hand through his hair, trying to get the loose strands in place. His eyes looked tired and worried and Ed tried hard to soften his expression, which was so used to being firm. He wasn’t sure he was all that successful.

Throwing the rest of the clothing back in the trunk and grabbing his possible selections for Oswald, Ed shut the bedroom door behind him and plodded down the upstairs landing to examine the last couple rooms. 

The next room he entered was a laundry room, complete with an ironing board and a large washer-dryer system. There was even a bottle of detergent sitting on the washer. Ed shook it, determining that it was about a quarter full. If Ed could figure out how to get power to the house, he might be able to wash his clothes faster than anticipated. He left the aforementioned dirty laundry in a basket in the room before returning to the landing.

The final room was another bathroom, this one larger than the downstairs one but otherwise unremarkable. He closed the door and returned downstairs to Oswald.

As Ed neared the bottom of the stairs, he was positioned behind Oswald who was still sprawled across the couch. Ed saw that Oswald was holding his note in his hands, rubbing his fingers across the page. Ed felt his face heat up at the sight and coughed gently. Oswald jumped and shoved the letter back into his pocket, turning his attention to Ed as if it had never been there in the first place.

“Oswald—” Ed was cut off by a wave of Oswald’s hand. Ed sighed. “Can we please just talk about it?” Ed pleaded. Oswald stared at him, expression unreadable. He held out his hand and Edward rushed forward, thinking it was meant for him. Oswald was quick to shut that idea down too, however.

“I assume you found clothes for me?” Oswald said, motioning to the bundle in Ed’s hands. His voice sounded too loud, too sharp, as if he was trying to speak over voices in his head. Ed knew the feeling.

“Oh, yes. Here,” Ed replied quietly, handing them over. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Oswald quickly rose to his feet. He was shaky and unstable. Edward immediately felt his heart rate rise in alarm. “Oswald! Your injury, you really shouldn’t be walking around!”

Oswald ignored him and entered the bathroom beside the fireplace, closing the door behind him.

Ed sat on the couch, frustrated, biting anxiously on his nails. He tasted the dirt that was caked beneath them, but his nerves wouldn’t allow him to stop biting despite the gross nature of the bad habit. 

‘Why not go after him? He’s clearly got something to hide,’ Riddler said, appearing in front of Ed, leaning against the coffee table. Ed rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at his hallucination. He heard the figure huff and move to sit next to him on the couch. His legs were spread wide in a clear display of confidence and dominance. Ed, in return, distanced himself from his figment, pressing up against the arm of the couch. He could still smell a touch of Oswald’s cologne and he breathed it in.

‘God, you’re so pathetic. If I were you, I’d already be in there, taking what I wanted,’ Riddler hissed. Ed shuddered, it felt like his other self was whispering in his ear.

“That’s sick,” Edward replied in a low voice. “I am not going to take advantage of him.” Ed hesitated, swallowing thickly as Riddler cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not anymore,” he restated. 

‘Jesus, be a man, Ed! Get in there, help him out of those clothes. Take him in your arms, press him up against that door like we both know you want to.” Ed covered his ears, feeling his face turn redder by the second.

“Even if I did want that,” Ed breathed, shaking. “I wouldn’t do it. Not like this. I couldn’t… he’d have to want it too.” 

As if on cue, a groan came from the bathroom and Ed felt Riddler nudge him as he winked. Ed held his breath, listening intently. It was silent, and then a small voice called out.

“Ed?” Oswald’s voice shook as he spoke, something Ed recognized as both a nervous twinge and perhaps a touch of pain. Ed rose to his feet.

“Yes?” he replied.

A pause. “Can you… can you help me? I can’t—” Oswald let out an audible sigh. “It hurts too much. I can’t button the shirt.”

Ed felt dizzy. He took a grounding breath before pacing forward and opening the door slowly. 

Standing just beyond him next to the sink was Oswald. He had managed to get the gray jeans on by some miracle, but had seemingly exhausted himself with that act. There was a sheen of sweat on his chest, which glowed with a healthy pink flush. Ed licked his lips absent-mindedly, trying his best not to stare. Oswald held out the indigo shirt. It seemed Ed had guessed correctly on the sizing.

Not daring to speak and ruin this strangely intoxicating atmosphere, Ed grabbed the shirt and closed the space between him and Oswald. He tapped Oswald’s biceps in a signal to raise his arms. Oswald obliged and Ed slipped the shirt over his shoulders, inhaling as he saw how wonderfully the color complimented Oswald’s pale skin and dark hair. It also seemed to make his freckles more pronounced, something that made Ed want to run his lips across each one and—

No. Focus.

Ed began buttoning the shirt from the bottom up. He carefully avoided looking at Oswald, avoided touching the bandage that circled Oswald’s waist.  He bit his lip as his fingers accidentally brushed against warm skin.

When Ed reached the last button, he glanced at Oswald’s face. His eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed. He seemed to be leaning into Ed’s touch. Ed’s hands shook and he opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it.

“I never thought that you would see me as anything other than a disgusting, selfish little man. To think that you felt something, all this time, and still did everything you did…” Oswald paused, opening his eyes and looking up at Ed. “I had come to terms with the idea of being your enemy. To be something more, something I have wanted for so long… it terrifies me.” His eyes sparkled with tears. Without thinking, Ed raised his right hand to cup Oswald’s cheek.

“Oswald, I…” Ed breathed, scanning the other man’s face as if trying to frame him in his mind forever. The urge to capture those soft lips with his own was so, so strong. It felt as though Oswald was his true north, and Ed was a compass. Ed closed his eyes, trying to control himself. When he pulled away, both he and Oswald let out a heavy puff of air. It wasn’t a sigh of relief, exactly, but more of this strange sense that breathing was only necessary when they were apart. 

Ed wanted to tell Oswald that he was scared too. He wanted to say that they could put this behind them, that he would burn the note and pretend it never existed if that was what Oswald wanted. He wanted to assure Oswald that he was done hurting him, that all he wanted was to stop lying, but that he would lie if that was what Oswald needed. He wanted to say all of these things.

But he didn’t, because Oswald grabbed his face in his hands and pulled him forward, pressing their lips together with all the power and heat of the air before a thunderstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have a kiss! don't worry, Oswald will explain his hesitations and everything. i'm sorry for the delay, hope you enjoyed!


	8. Hate Myself For Loving You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated e, oh boy.

Oswald’s kiss was clumsy and surprisingly gentle. He kissed as though he was scared that Ed would disappear at any moment. Ed found he couldn’t blame him.

As much as he tried to fight it, Ed began to give himself over to his emotions, kissing Oswald languidly. He brought his hands up to the sides of Oswald’s face, running his fingers through the smaller man’s feathery hair. He could still smell traces of Oswald’s cologne despite the stretch of time that had to have passed since he had applied it. Beneath that scent was a headier, more intoxicating one that spoke of heat and passion.

Ed felt goosebumps run up his arms as Oswald moved his hands downward to clutch at Ed’s sides, tracing careful, beautiful patterns over his flannel. Still, it was as if the layer of clothing wasn’t there and Ed felt hypersensitive to Oswald’s slightest movement. Oswald’s hands were both ticklish and relaxing and Ed sighed heavily into the kiss, clutching him tighter. He ran his tongue across Oswald’s lips and the man responded greedily, fingertips replaced with nails that clung to Ed tightly. 

Oswald tasted like morning breath, charcoal and blood, a mixture that might have been unappealing if Ed hadn’t been wanting to taste him for years.

But there was that voice again, that reasonable part of Ed that reminded him that this was going too fast. With a muffled groan, Ed grabbed onto Oswald’s shoulders and pushed him back. When he saw his face, however, Ed’s resolve began to quiver.

Oswald was an incredible sight. His hair was mussed, shiny and tousled like waves on sand. His cheeks were a splotchy red and his pupils were blown wide beneath his half-lidded gaze. His lips were swollen and wet with saliva, begging to be bitten and sucked. The blush that colored his face traveled down below his shirt collar.

Upon being held back, Oswald’s eyes remained trained on Edward’s lips, trying to follow them with his own as if he needed them to survive. Ed swallowed heavily, holding him still, giving his shoulder a light squeeze in an effort to assure him that he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“No, Os,” Ed whispered, testing out what he hoped was an affectionate nickname. “We need to talk about this.”  _ First _ , he thought.

Ed couldn’t tell if that message got across as Oswald blinked and slumped, relaxing in Ed’s outstretched grip. Oswald sighed before nodding, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Ed released him and followed him into the living room.

Oswald’s limp was heavy, the floorboards creaking unevenly with each weighty step. Ed stood as close as he dared, ready to catch him should he fall. He didn’t have to, though: Oswald sat on the center couch and looked at Ed expectantly. Ed sat beside him, maintaining a slight distance despite every fiber of his being begging him to let his hands do the talking. He heard Oswald release a puff of air, and looked over to see that he was grinning.

“What?” Ed asked, still breathless. It was crazy how Oswald seemed to suck the air from his lungs. Oswald shook his head, still chuckling. “ _ What? _ ” Ed asked again, more forcefully. 

“Every time I think I’m beginning to understand you, you prove me wrong,” Oswald finally replied, gazing into Ed’s eyes. “First, you try to kill me when I bring you back to life. I thought, ‘okay, he still hates me, I know how to handle that.’ Then you treat my bullet wound and write me this letter that practically has love in each confounded paragraph. You said that you wanted me. I was confused, I was scared, but I saw no reason for you to lie any longer. And now,” Oswald cleared his throat. “Now that you have me, you push me away again. That is why I am laughing, Edward, because you are so beautifully, maddeningly contradictory.”

“I’m not pushing you away, Oswald,” Ed started, only to be met with Oswald rolling his eyes. “I’m  _ not _ . I just can’t do… anything with you until we talk about this,” he finished, motioning between the two of them. It was painfully embarrassing to get the words out, and Ed’s mouth felt dry as he spoke them. Oswald’s smile had faded into a flat expression and he sat still and quiet for a long time. Ed was tempted to prompt him when he opened his mouth to speak.

“You said that you felt something when you saw me that first time.” Ed nodded. “I was cruel to you then. Why would you help me later?”

Ed wanted to scream. This was supposed to be a discussion of his wrongs, not Oswald’s. Then again, perhaps it was fair to address everything. “When I found you, I had just killed Ms. Kringle. I truly thought that finding you in those woods was fate, that the world was trying to tell me something. I thought perhaps it gave you to me as a mentor, a way to grow and develop, like the butterfly.” Oswald smiled at this, perhaps remembering the similar analogy in Ed’s apartment all that time ago. “Then, when I brought you home, it became impossible for me to deny that I was still enamored of you.”

“But you did nothing. I was weak, I couldn’t truly fight back.” Ed snorted.

“You held a knife to my throat, Oswald. You wouldn’t call that fighting back?”

“You had told me that we are better off unencumbered by love! I had just lost my mother!” Oswald argued, folding his arms. Ed nodded: there was no point in denying what was true.

“I was just trying to make a point, Oswald. You were never weak. Ever. Everything you did, you did with almost too much strength. Strength of emotion and physical strength. It was your strength that got you into trouble, never weakness. You felt and acted too much.”

Oswald looked down, at a loss for words. He fiddled with his fingers, biting his lip in nervous thought. Ed wanted to hold him close, but stayed firmly attached to the arm of the couch. 

“But that still doesn’t explain why you never said anything,” Oswald mumbled. Ed frowned.

“I had never fallen for another man before,” Ed responded, carefully avoiding the word ‘love.’ There was something about that word that Ed feared would make him lose his nerve. “The idea of it felt wrong. I thought something was wrong with me. So I lied to myself, again and again, trying to tell myself that you were nothing more than a good friend and that was the reason for my feelings. I hadn’t had any true friends in my life before you, so it was a convincing enough argument, albeit a false one.”

Oswald’s expression was unreadable. “And Isabella?” Ed was surprised that Oswald said her name correctly. It felt as if she finally had shape in Oswald’s mind.

“I truly did love her, Oswald. Or, at least, I loved the idea of her. She was kind, beautiful, a way to start over.”  _ And female, _ Ed thought regrettably. Why did that make love any easier, any more palatable? It shouldn’t. “I will never forget what you did. Ever.” Ed saw Oswald flinch at the words, but he nodded as if he expected nothing less. He looked about ready to bolt. Ed hurried to continue. “I have long forgiven you, Oswald. I forgive you because that was one bad decision that you suffered for, tenfold. I forgive you because the man who had Isabella killed is not the man I see before me now. A man who has risked his life for love again and again. A man that I—” Ed broke off, choking on his words. “Care for.”

Oswald’s eyes were shining as he looked at Ed. “I froze you,” he whispered. 

Ed shook his head. “I defiled your father’s grave. He was at rest and I pulled him from the earth just to hurt you, to distance you from me. To destroy you and in turn rid myself from my feelings.” 

There, something about Oswald’s expression changed. Ed had hit a nerve, and he felt grateful for it. The man could not keep forgiving him. He couldn’t. Hating and being hated was so much easier, after all, no matter how much it made Ed's heart ache.

Oswald looked distinctly as if he might vomit. “I have tried so hard to forget,” he said, deathly quiet, “that you threw him into a dumpster.”

As much as Ed felt he deserved to be hated, he needed that hatred to be about something real.

“I didn’t do that, Oswald.”

“What?”

“The dumpster. I would never. I buried him again after everything. I only said that to push you farther away.” Ed felt his eyes start to water and he blinked several times, staring up at the ceiling to clear his tears. He heard Oswald inhale sharply and looked back down to see him slouched over with tears.

“Thank god, thank god, thank god,” he whispered, shaking. Edward again felt that overwhelming desire to reach out, but clenched his fists tightly instead, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “All this time, I thought you’d…” Oswald drifted off, before suddenly wrapping his arms around Ed, who gasped and stayed still. “But no. I knew you couldn’t have been so cruel.” Ed felt tears fall from his eyes as he shoved Oswald away with more force.

“No, Oswald. I still hurt you again and again and I did so many unspeakable things. Don’t you dare act differently now. I don’t deserve it.”

Instead of waking Oswald up, however, the man’s face seemed to soften further, looking at Ed with sadness in his eyes.

“Ed, I forgive you. You are forgiven. For all of it.” 

“ _ No _ , I don’t want your forgiveness.” Ed clenched his jaw, rising from the couch to pace. “I should not get it,” he spat, feeling his stomach fill with more and more hatred and self-loathing. 

“See? This is what I mean. You say you care for me, that you want to have a conversation, and then you stand up and huff when when we do. What is it you want from me, Edward?” Oswald grimaced, following Ed’s shape with his eyes as his bullet wound twinged in pain. Ed stopped and returned his glare.

“What I want? What I want is to tell you how I feel. How I have always felt,” Ed said, carding his hand through his hair in distress. “You and I, we have both done horrible, horrible things. To each other and to Gotham city. But the difference is that you have learned from your mistakes and I have not. Just because I’m in love with you does not mean I deserve to be forgiven!”

And there it was. He had said it. There was a long silence filled only with the labored breaths of himself and Oswald. He stood less than a foot in front of the couch where Oswald sat. He felt his tears fall freely now as he refused to meet Oswald’s gaze. He moved to sit back down, putting his head in his hands.

Oswald sighed, and suddenly there was a weight on Ed’s shoulder. Oswald was leaning against him.

“Fine. Perhaps there are things that I cannot forget. Scars that will never heal. But you are  _ worth _ forgiving, Edward Nygma.” Oswald raised his head and grabbed Ed by the chin, turning him so he was looking at him. Both men were crying softly, and yet the sensation of tears flowing down both of their faces was the most comfortable feeling in the world, as if they were washing away the pain they had faced. 

Ed tried to resist temptation. Tried to stop himself. But his mind couldn’t find one reason to. He pressed his lips to Oswald’s, feeling their tears mix as he responded immediately. They held each other, lips moving gently, pouts becoming smiles as their teeth hit gracelessly. Tears of pain became tears of happiness as Ed felt his heart soften, fear resembling a kinder emotion: hope.

As Edward’s hands twisted in Oswald’s shirt, Oswald ran his fingers along Ed’s hip-bones, causing him to shiver and moan. He bit Oswald’s lips more forcefully as he leaned him backwards, pushing him down against the couch cushions. 

God, he was beautiful. As they parted, Oswald’s lips were glossy with saliva and his eyes returned to that incredible, blown-out image. Oswald’s hands ran down Ed’s back, his eyes widening as Ed leaned back and began unbuttoning his shirt. As Ed adjusted himself above Oswald, however, he couldn’t help but feel the man half-hard beneath him. His breath caught in his throat as Oswald bit back a moan.

Ed pulled his shirt from his shoulders and leaned back down to ravish Oswald’s face with kisses while he tentatively ground his hips down. Oswald shuddered and whimpered, grabbing onto Ed tighter. Encouraged, Ed trailed his lips down Oswald’s neck, biting and sucking as he continued rubbing up against him. It was bliss, pleasure like Ed had never known.

Until that word fell from Oswald’s mouth, his voice raw and hesitant. “Stop,” he croaked.

Ed immediately stilled his hips, rising, careful not to rest his body on anywhere that would hurt the man panting beneath him. He looked down, feeling concern and fear come flooding back.

“Oswald? What’s wrong?” Ed asked gently, putting a hand to Oswald’s cheek. Oswald flinched at the contact and Ed instantly drew away as if he had been burned. “Shit,” he whispered, profanity spilling from his mouth as it rarely did. “I’m so sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have started this—” 

Oswald pushed himself up and cut Ed off with a kiss, biting down hard on his bottom lip. Ed couldn’t tell whether he did so because he was in a painful position, or out of lust, but he felt his heart rate decrease.

“I want this, Ed. I want you,” Oswald assured, giving him a few more pecks around the mouth. Ed must have looked puzzled, because Oswald continued quickly. “I just… I need to be the one in control.” Oswald stared meaningfully into Ed’s eyes, trying to convey something without outright saying it.

It clicked in Ed’s mind: Oswald wanted the control that Ed had stolen from him so many times. At this discovery, Ed immediately fell back on the couch, sitting on his hands so as not to get carried away. He would let Oswald have this. Let him do whatever he wanted. 

“I’m all yours,” he breathed. 

At those three words, Oswald was immediately above him, pressing kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Ed wanted nothing more than to grab Oswald’s hair, but no. Oswald needed to be free and Ed needed to be under control. It felt right, it felt fair and oh God, it felt incredible.

Oswald was nipping at Ed’s neck, scooting down in a way that was not exactly graceful, but was necessary to avoid hurting himself. Ed bit his lip to stifle the moan that arose as Oswald licked a path lower to Ed’s chest before placing delicate kisses along his collarbone and nipples.

“Let me hear you,” Oswald whispered, leaning back up to nip at Ed’s ear. Ed let out a soft, embarrassingly high moan at the sensation, to which Oswald smiled. “Good boy,” he praised. That only made Ed moan louder. He couldn’t help but admit that every compliment Oswald gave him made his heart dance with love.

Oswald returned his attention to Ed’s chest, pressing his lips once more against Ed’s nipples before nipping at them gently, taking one between his teeth and sucking. Ed shook, feeling his hands twitch beneath him, aching to touch, to feel. Oswald’s mouth felt divine, and he hadn’t even drifted lower than Edward’s pectorals.

Until he grazed his tongue lower, swiping towards Ed’s sensitive hips. Oswald mouthed at the bottom of Ed’s abdomen, tantalizingly close to where he wanted him the most. 

“Oh, God,” Ed whined, hips accidentally bucking upwards in desperation. Oswald moaned in return, moving back up to kiss Ed once more as he ground his hips down. Ed whimpered at the feeling. They were both so hard, it was unbearable. “Please, Oswald. Please,” he begged, quivering. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, all he knew was he needed more. 

Oswald sat up and began unbuttoning his own pants. Ed was practically drooling as he watched Oswald pull down his fly, pushing his pants down to his mid-thigh. His briefs were slightly small, a factor that accentuated the curve of his cock, so close and tangible and yet still out of reach. Ed moaned loudly despite not being touched, desperate for anything Oswald would give him. This was perfect, this was everything Ed had ever wanted, and now that it was here he felt like he wanted to remain between Oswald’s legs for eternity. 

That was when he felt a hand drift towards his own erection, palming him through far too many layers. 

“Oswald, please, please for the love of God, do something!” It took only a few moments before Oswald was obliging, unbuttoning his pants at an unbearably slow pace. He seemed to take pleasure in Ed’s prolonged desperation. He pulled Ed’s pants off entirely, watching as he squirmed, shivering at the cold air that floated across his boxers. Oswald leaned to kiss him again, and Ed raised his head to meet him part way, only to be pushed down by Oswald’s rough, calloused hands. 

Oswald kissed a trail from Ed’s lips back towards his earlobe, sucking and biting on it. Ed was practically crying, he was so desperate to feel Oswald’s cock against his, though it remained only a few inches away. 

Then, pure ecstacy as Oswald finally pressed them together, two thin layers of fabric the only separation between them now. They moaned together, their soft, tender noises echoing through the space around them, blending in euphony. Oswald seemed spurred on by Ed’s equal amount of enthusiasm and quickened his pace, moving his hips in an uncoordinated but undeniably passionate rhythm. 

Ed whined even louder as he felt the wetness of their precum mix together through the fabric, thrusting his hips upward to meet Oswald and create stronger friction. He opened his eyes, not remembering having shut them, and thought he could come just from the sight of the man above him.

Oswald’s head was thrown back, exposing his delicate neck that was framed by the stunning indigo of his shirt, which was now wrinkled. The flush on his face was perfect, a soft strawberry pink that Ed thought was almost as pretty as Oswald’s jade-colored eyes. When Ed glanced all the way down, he saw that Oswald’s back was curved in the most delicious manner, ass pointed upward, begging to be grabbed. 

And then there were the  _ noises _ : pure love spilled from Oswald’s lips as he cried Edward’s name over and over, thrusting harder, breath coming out in scattered fragments as he sought his release.

Ed couldn’t help it. He needed to touch him.

His hands shot upward, grasping at Oswald’s hips. Oswald immediately opened his eyes and stared down at Ed, gaze hazy and predatory. Ed gave Oswald’s ass a quick squeeze before pulling him down once more, desperate to taste the man as he came. He swallowed his own name and exhaled Oswald’s. 

“Come for me, Oswald. You’re so perfect. I love you,” Ed whispered between the kisses he peppered wherever Oswald would let him. He grabbed one of Oswald’s hands and laced their fingers together, feeling safe like he never had.

Oswald shuddered, head dropping as he came. Droplets of sweat fell from his hair to Ed’s chest. Still, what would once have repulsed him was like a drug now: Ed bathed in the feeling of Oswald’s cum seeping into his own underwear, the calm wave that flooded him as he found his own release, shouting Oswald’s name loud enough to echo back to Gotham. 

As their hips slowed, shaking violently in the aftermath of their orgasms, Oswald collapsed on Ed’s chest. Ed could feel their hearts beating together, in time for just a moment before alternating and pumping sporadically as if speaking a secret language back and forth. Oswald nuzzled his head into the crook of Ed’s neck, and Ed began to realize how tired he was. Running his fingers absently through Oswald’s hair, he almost missed the man’s next words.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well! they certainly talked! i must admit, this is as far as i've planned, but i'm going to keep brainstorming and thinking of where I want to take this story next. i have a few ideas, some happier than others. thank you all for bearing with me and my inconsistent upload schedule. i'm doing the best i can to keep up with this, and i really hope i don't let it die.  
> i did, however, think it was about time these boys were happy. for a little while. i'm bad at writing entirely happy things, just a word of warning.  
> i love you guys!  
> update: i'm so sorry this is taking longer than my other updates. life has been crazy, but i hope to have chapter 9 up in the next couple days. thank you again for your patience!


	9. Release Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated e for some smut and kinky stuff!

As Ed held Oswald in his arms, their contented silence drifted into comforting snores and blissful sleep. Ed hadn’t slept well in months, so the peace he felt when resting beside Oswald came as a welcome change. 

He might have slept through the night had he not awoken to a trembling Oswald and the sensation of goosebumps travelling up his arm. It was freezing, and the light from the setting sun painted the room gold. Ed could have handled the cold were it not for the gross, sticky sensation of his boxers rubbing against his skin. Carefully, Ed extracted his arms from underneath Oswald, who shivered and whined at the loss of body heat.

Oswald blinked open his eyes, staring blearily at Ed. His hair was mussed, sticking haphazardly in all directions. He tried to push himself up on his hands, but winced in pain. Ed looked down at him with concern before kneeling and running his fingers through the man’s hair.

“Shhh…” Ed whispered soothingly. Oswald leaned into his touch, again trying to move and again winced. Ed sighed. “I would give you more painkillers, but I don’t want you to overdose.” Ed gave him one last gentle pat, standing once more. Oswald stared at him, nodding and falling back on the couch. He was still shivering, unable to fight off the chill that seeped into the room. 

“I’m going to look around outside,” Ed continued. “To see if I can find any supplies, or perhaps a generator. Obviously we would have to use it only in emergencies, but it is important to have an understanding of our resources. Plus, there doesn’t appear to be any wood in here to start a fire. I’ll see what I can find. Then, I’ll come back inside, make a fire, clean our clothes and cook up some dinner, okay?” Turning away from the man, Ed grabbed his clothes from the floor, trying not to cringe at the thought of being unable to change his underwear. He redressed slowly and glanced over his shoulder to find that Oswald’s eyes were looking him up and down hungrily. 

“If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d pull you right back down next to me,” Oswald muttered, eyes darkening. Ed grinned, feeling as though he were glowing. As he buttoned his last button, he crossed back to the couch and gave Oswald a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he promised, before stepping outside into the cold night air.

The sun was a giant orange balloon floating just above the horizon, casting everything in shades of pink and purple. Ed took the stairs of the porch leading down onto the lawn of the lodge two at a time, not wishing to spend any longer outside and away from Oswald than necessary. After so much time pushing him away, Ed knew there was nowhere else he would rather be than at Oswald’s side.

As his feet met the crunchy, dry grass, Ed turned towards the right side of the house, near where he had parked the car. Just beyond the rear of the vehicle, which was still covered by the tarp, there was a cellar door with a padlock and chain. Ed crossed to it, grabbing the handle firmly and pulling, testing the strength of the chain, which appeared to be slightly rusted. He frowned as it refused to budge. He remembered how he had left his pen hook and the safety pin back in the alley outside his old apartment.

Idiot. He would have to find a way to force the doors open.

The right side of the lodge had little else to it; some bushes, a couple tall maple trees; dry leaves that crunched underfoot. Ed continued along to the back side of the building.

Immediately upon rounding the corner, Ed spied a small shed. He moved towards it, groaning as he saw that this was also locked. He stood for a moment, looking the structure over: it looked like a tool shed, something that may contain items crucial to his and Oswald’s survival. Perhaps an axe, or some bolt cutters. 

In Ed’s examination, his eyes caught on a piece of rotted wood. He pressed a finger to it, observing that it was slightly wet and seemed to break away under his hands. Below the rotting board at the bottom of the shed was a small hole, likely created by squirrel or chipmunk. Ed knelt down and reached his hand through the hole, bracing himself against the wall of the shed and pulling as hard as he could. There was a satisfying snap, and the board came loose, splintering in his lap. 

Peering through his newly created opening, Ed scanned the contents of the shed. Though it was quite dark, there was still enough light to make out some details. There were tons of tools: axes, sawblades, hammers, a box of nails, wrenches and, most importantly, bolt cutters. Grinning with relief, Ed attempted to pull the other boards loose. 

They didn’t budge. He kicked several, with nothing resulting from his assaults aside from a stubbed toe in his worn shoes. 

Ed was surprised Riddler hadn’t appeared to taunt him. Not that he wasn’t grateful, he could do without extra voices in his head. 

Ed glanced up above the doorway of the shed and spotted a window. Perfect.

He could easily reach the sill, but the window was jammed. Looking around his feet, Ed caught a glimpse of a large garden rock that sat with several others, encircling a shrub. He picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hands before launching it at the window. He winced and covered his face as glass flew everywhere before shaking himself off, careful to get rid of the microscopic pieces that clung to his clothing. 

Tugging his sleeves over his hands to protect them from the broken glass that still remained on the window frame, Ed hauled himself upwards. He accidentally brushed his cheek against an offending glass shard and felt blood rise to the surface of his skin. He ignored it and, finally, dropped to the dusty floor of the shed beneath the window.

Ed made a beeline for the bolt cutters, then looked around for anything else that might be of use. On the back wall of the shed, there was a green workbench with a heavy metal vice attached to the side. On the workbench, there was a duffel bag. Ed walked to the bag and unzipped it slowly, finding that it was filled with various tools of all different shapes and sizes. He dumped the contents out on the table, but found nothing worth taking.

Glancing around the rest of the shed, Ed spotted a bag of charcoal, several boxes of matches, a gas lighter, a flashlight and a box of candles. All of these he threw into the duffel bag: as he did so, he noticed two large cans of oil in the corner. 

“Are these for a generator?” Ed questioned to himself, making a mental note of their existence. Seeing nothing else of use, Ed threw the duffel over his shoulder and grabbed the bolt cutters.

Turning his attention to the door, Ed placed all of his weight against it, causing it to open up just enough for him to stick the bolt cutters through. He did thus and hooked them against the padlock itself, judging that it would be easier to cut that than the chain. He pushed the handles of the bolt cutters together as hard as he could and felt a sweat break out on his forehead before hearing that satisfying clang that signalled the demise of the lock. Reaching his hand through the slit in the door, Ed pulled the lock and chain away from the door handle, causing it to swing open and let in the cool night air. 

There was still a sliver of light on the horizon, but Ed knew he had mere minutes until the sun dipped down completely. Reaching back into the duffel, Ed pulled out the flashlight and tested it, glad to see that it still worked. 

The bolt cutters made quick work of the flimsy chain that held the door closed. Ed clicked on the flashlight and opened the cellar door, throwing the bolt cutters to the side now that they were no longer needed. A wave of musty, stale air assaulted him. Ed took a moment to breathe the fresh air before diving into the cellar.

The wooden stairs creaked under his weight. Ed could make out the shape of hanging lights that were strung along the ceiling, though of course they emitted no glow. Ed left the duffel of supplies at the bottom of the stairs, holding the flashlight in front of him like a gun. The cellar groaned in protest at Ed’s invasion and seemed to darken by the second. The darkness was suffocating. Ed took a deep breath and progressed onto the dusty brick floor.

At first, he saw little of note; a couple of bicycles; a push lawn mower; stacked plastic tables and chairs. As he spun around to his left, the flashlight glinted off the corner of a metal box mounted to the wall. Upon closer inspection, Ed was cautiously excited at the sight of a fuse box. It would probably serve no purpose, but Ed figured it was worth checking the main breaker, just in case.

The fuse box was not locked. Ed pulled it open and examined the switches. All of them must have been labeled at some point: there was evidence of white stickers having been placed below each switch, but the writing that had once adorned them was now illegible. Still, the main breaker was easy to identify. It was large and red, contrasting firmly with the smaller black switches. Taking a deep breath, Ed switched it into the on position.

His ears began to ring, but he knew it was no more than the placebo effect. The switch had done nothing.

Ed sighed. He was about to take one last look around before he spotted it—a panel beside the electrical box with a thick black cable running out of it, stretching up around the ceiling and disappearing from view. Ed followed it with his flashlight, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Must be a generator transfer switch,” he said aloud. Before he allowed himself to get too excited about the prospect of having limited access to power, he looked around once more. 

Close to the bikes, there was a large plastic bag with a bit of cloth sticking out of it. Curious, Ed tugged it out and found the bag to be filled with scraps of fabric, ranging from strips the size of a ribbon to two yards worth. The cloth could be used for bandages or, as was the more pressing matter in Ed’s mind, to make new underwear. Sitting close to the bag was a plastic container, which Ed opened to reveal a first aid kit and a sewing kit. He opened the first aid kit and found it filled with the essentials. Grabbing the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Ed pulled out a cotton ball, wet it and brushed it against the cut on his face. It stung, but at least the scrape was clean and there was no risk of infection. Of course, it was just a scratch and had stopped bleeding, but he figured it was better be safe than sorry. Ed threw the first aid and sewing kits and the larger pieces of fabric in his duffel bag, now grunting a little under the weight before climbing from the cellar.

Ed spotted the cable running along the side of the lodge, concealed by a thick rubber protector. It led to the left side of the lodge. As Ed rounded the corner, he felt giddy. Who knew a thick metal box filled with gas could make one so excited? 

“Thank God,” Ed said as he approached the generator. There was a small part of him, a whispering part, that told him never to expect too much good luck. He shoved the voice down deep inside and knelt beside the generator, opening the panel on the side that contained the start-up buttons and fuel injection pump. “At least these people had enough intelligence to keep their generator outside. I half expected them to be lying dead in the basement. Cause of death: Carbon Monoxide poisoning.” Ed let out a small chuckle as he pressed the ‘on’ button. To his surprise and happiness, he heard that familiar sound of the engine starting up and the spark of electricity heating across wires. He wanted to scream. Sure, it was no long-term solution, but should electricity be required, it would be an option. Ed glanced out across the yard, noting a building that looked like an outhouse. Well. That’s one way to save electricity and water.

Ed returned his attention to the fuel gauge, remembering the canisters of gas he found in the shed. The generator was a little less than half-full. Ed decided to leave it for now and switched the generator back off, grabbing his flashlight. 

Picking up his scavenged supplies, Ed caught sight of a small, circular stone feature around 40 yards away, near a patch of trees that separated the left side of the lodge from the cabins and outhouses. As he walked closer, Ed was able to make out the distinct shape of a well with a wooden bucket and pulley system. Beside the well was an axe and chopping block, along with a crate to store chopped logs. Also scattered around Ed were pieces of bark from the paper birch that stood tall before him. 

Ed was a man of efficiency, and he prided himself on this fact. Carrying all of one’s groceries into their apartment in one trip was a kind of puzzle, each bag fitting in one’s arms like jenga blocks. It was mathematical, it was logical, it was… well, mostly, it was a way for him to show off. Even if just for himself.

Ed drew up the bucket from the well after pushing it down as far as the rope would take it. It came up heavier than it went down, so at least there was water still. When the bucket surfaced from its dark tomb, Ed grabbed and set it down carefully, refusing to spill a drop. He then gathered the pieces of birch bark and shoved them into his pockets. Then he opened the crate, which revealed a measly two logs. Not that he could have carried more with all of the other supplies. He thought about what each component of the duffel would weigh: the charcoal would weigh in the highest at close to 6.1 kg. That left him with about 9 kg of carrying capacity. Considering the logs were medium sized, that would probably take up around 2.5 kg total. The flashlight was plastic and flimsy and the matches and lighter were too small to add significant weight. That left the selection of candles, likely coming to around 1.5 kg, the cloth coming to around 1 kg and the first aid and sewing kits, adding up to 2.5 kg. That left him with more than a kilogram to spare, which would have to be evened out by the bucket of water. 

Heaving the bag to his shoulders, he felt his back crack in protest. He bent down one more time to grasp the bucket and stumbled quickly towards the lodge, wanting to be rid of the supplies as soon as possible. The handle was the biggest hassle, but Ed refused to let go of the bucket. A small splash of water soaked his shoes, but he entered the lodge unscathed and feeling relatively successful. The light from the moon streamed through the tall windows and cast the living room of the lodge in a blue glow.

Ed was greeted by a surprising but not unwelcome sight.

Oswald was seated on the couch, entirely nude aside from his bandages, which he was in the process of unravelling. His pale skin shone like the night sky, his freckles forming constellations. His shirt and briefs were hanging off the arm of the couch. Ed quickly set down the bucket and duffel and hurried over to Oswald. 

Sitting beside him on the couch, Ed placed his hands over Oswald’s, stopping him from untying the bandage by himself.

“Let me help you,” Ed whispered, swallowing at the sight of Oswald’s exposed body. He began carefully unwrapping the bandages that lined his abdomen, feeling the man sigh and rest his head against his shoulder. His chest pressed against Ed’s and radiated a comfortable heat that brought warmth to Ed’s cheeks. Ed coughed. “If I may ask, why are you…” he drifted off.

“I don’t know how you could stand wearing your underwear. I know I felt uncomfortable,” Oswald replied, wrinkling his nose. Ed nodded, reminded of how uncomfortable he, too, felt. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Ed asked, pulling the rest of the bandages off. He stood abruptly and reached into the duffel, pulling out several candles and a lighter. He set them down on the table by the couch and began to light them.

“Not when you’re here,” Oswald said softly, looking bashful. Ed smiled. With the candles lit, he could register a faint blush on Oswald’s face. When his eyes drifted lower, however, his smile disappeared.

Ed rejoined Oswald on the couch, staring at his abdomen. Although his skin was stained red with blood and the bullet wound had begun to scab over, Ed could make out the thick scarring that sat just beside the fresher wound. He felt immediate and intense guilt shower over him as he gently brushed his fingers against the scar.

A scar he had created.

The tears had formed in his eyes before he could stop them and began to spill over. Oswald looked as though he was about to speak when Ed cut him off.

“Don’t… don’t touch the wound. I’ll disinfect and bandage it after I start a fire.” He rose to his feet once more, unbuttoning his shirt and laying it over Oswald gently as a sort of blanket. As he turned to bring the duffel closer, Oswald grabbed his wrist. Ed looked down in surprise as Oswald drew his hand close and kissed each of his fingers and his palm.

“Wounds heal, Ed,” Oswald said, lacing their fingers together. Ed felt the intensity of his regret rise within him, as much as he tried to shove it aside. He forced a smile and gave Oswald a gentle kiss before straightening and returning to the task at hand. He wondered if the guilt would ever go away.

Carrying the duffel over to the fire, Ed removed the logs, birch bark and charcoal and set them off to the side. Also sitting beside the fireplace was a small box of old newspapers. Ed pulled out the top copy of the Gotham Gazette, grinning as he saw Oswald’s face on the front. He held it out for Oswald to see and pointed at the picture.

“You made the front page,” Ed said. Oswald grinned.

“When don’t I?” he joked. 

“True. ‘Penguin Busted: Citizens Rejoice!’” They both chuckled and Ed started crumpling up the paper. “It was a nice picture, at least.”

Oswald rolled his eyes and lay back down on the couch. “Do I look busted?” 

Ed continued building the tipi-style fire before taking a moment to dramatically stare at Oswald. “Do you want the honest answer?” Ed asked, mostly joking. Mostly. Oswald laughed and waved his hand in the air as if to say ‘Shut up, you!’

Ed pulled out the lighter with a smile on his face and lit the paper and birch bark in several places, watching as it caught. Beneath the layers of tinder, Ed had placed pieces of charcoal, which would help the fire to stay hot once it got going. Leaning forward to blow on the flames, Ed’s smile widened. The fire began to consume the logs and Ed was happy with the level of warmth the fire was giving off. It felt nice against his bare chest.

Reaching back into the duffel, Ed pulled out the first aid kit and returned to Oswald, plopping down next to him on the sofa. He gently lifted Oswald’s legs so they were draped across his lap and smiled fondly down at the man. Oswald’s face was positively glowing and his skin was adorned with goosebumps. He was clutching Ed’s shirt tightly, burying his nose into the fabric. Ed tore his eyes away and removed the hydrogen peroxide from the kit along with some gauze pads. He was grateful that it was well-stocked. 

He soaked one of the gauze pads in the solution and pulled the shirt out of Oswald’s grasp, who visibly shivered at its loss. 

“Though your wound has begun to scab, this might sting a bit. Still, your skin is slightly red and inflamed and I don’t want that to lead to infection,” Ed explained. Oswald nodded and braced himself. Ed pressed the pad carefully against the wound, trying to keep his eyes on what his hands were doing and not on the scar that seemed to scream for his attention. Oswald hissed at the sensation.

“Sting a bit?” Oswald gritted, glaring at Ed who chuckled. After sufficiently cleaning the area, Ed used another small piece of gauze to dab away the excess liquid. Also in the first aid kit was a tube of Neosporin. Ed squeezed a dab of it on his fingers and smoothed it into Oswald’s skin. He felt Oswald shiver at the sensation, though Ed was pretty sure it wasn’t the cold that made him do so.

With the wound cleaned and protected, Ed pulled some bandages out of the kit and helped Oswald to a seated position. He pulled the man close and felt him wrap his arms around his shoulders as he, in turn, wrapped the bandage around his waist. 

Oswald was not one to sit still, however, and Ed soon felt the sensation of wet, open-mouthed kisses against his neck. The kisses drifted down to his bare shoulder and Ed felt his breathing grow heavier. He laughed nervously and secured the bandage with tape, face warm. Oswald nipped at a spot just under Ed’s ear, which caused him to let out a soft noise. He extracted Oswald’s arms from around his neck and laid him back. As he did so, he couldn’t help but glance down, couldn’t help but notice that Oswald was half hard. Ed’s eyes widened and he knew his face must have been bright red based off of Oswald’s low chuckle. 

“I… I should wash our clothes…” Ed said weakly. 

“That can wait,” Oswald huffed, frowning. His eyes drifted downwards and he ran a hand up Ed’s thigh. Ed whimpered, but didn’t push him away. Oswald finally grasped Ed’s crotch and squeezed, grinning as he felt that Ed was responding to his attention. Ed, however, yelped and jumped off the couch. He couldn’t enjoy this with all of these other chores to do. And he knew they needed to get done.

“I j… just need to heat up some water and grab the detergent,” Ed said, stuttering nervously. Oswald stared at him longingly but waved him off with a roll of his eyes. Ed jogged to the kitchen, grabbing a cast-iron pot and wooden spoon. Returning to the living room, he poured the water from the well bucket into the pot and set it on a hook over the fire, which was now roaring proudly. Ed set the spoon on the mantel and rushed upstairs to the laundry room. From there, he grabbed the detergent before heading to the bedroom, gathering his dirty clothes from off the floor. He decided his old shirt was bloodstained beyond repair, but the pants might be salvageable. Taking one last glance at the bed, he grabbed the quilt atop it—though the fire gave off some heat, more would be appreciated. 

Returning downstairs, Ed saw that Oswald had picked Ed’s shirt from off the floor and was cuddling with it, face buried beneath the collar, wisps of hair poking out.  _ Cute _ , thought Ed, though he knew Oswald would hate to be referred to as such. He draped the quilt over a nearby chair.

He heard the water in the pot begin to boil and he hurried back towards it. He used his old bloodstained shirt as a sort of oven mitt and removed the pot from the fire, setting it off to the side. Ed slowly stripped down, sighing as he removed his underwear, cringing at it. He quickly went into the bathroom and picked up Oswald’s old pants. Back in the living room, he gathered Oswald’s underwear and his ruined jacket. 

Holding his jacket and old shirt in his hands, Ed hesitated. He knew the pieces were things he couldn’t save, but it still hurt to part with them. It was illogical, of course, to hold onto them, so Ed gave into logic. He threw the ruined articles into the fire, listening to the crackle that they caused. 

Returning to the water, he held his hand over it to check the temperature. It was hot, certainly, but it was not so hot that he couldn’t keep his hand there. Grabbing the dirty garments once more, Ed placed them in the pot with a half capful of detergent and stirred them gently with the wooden spoon. He purposefully avoided looking at Oswald, knowing that in doing so he would lose focus on the tasks at hand.

Covering the pot with a lid to let the items soak, he took a deep breath before finally glancing back at Oswald. The man’s eyes were predatory as they looked Ed up and down. Ed swore he saw Oswald lick his lips. 

He had to admit, it was flattering. And Ed loved admiration, regardless of whether he felt he deserved it or not. He grinned, tempted momentarily by Oswald’s lustful expressions, but shook his head to steady himself. He coughed, clearing his throat. 

“We should eat something,” he began. “It’s been a long day.”

Oswald frowned, but nodded. “I could eat,” he replied, but there was something in the way that he said it. The sense that his words referred to more than just food. Ed turned, painfully aware of his nudity. He wasn’t embarrassed by that, per se, but it certainly made hiding his own attraction more difficult. 

Ed grabbed the abandoned flashlight and returned to the pantry, scanning the room for something he could use to make a quick, easy meal while still conserving what food they had. He finally decided on a large can of chicken noodle soup to share, classic comfort food. Along with that, he grabbed a pot with a hook for the fireplace, two bowls, napkins and clean spoons. The can had a pull tab, for which he was grateful. No searching for a can opener.

Back in the living room once more, Ed poured the contents of the can into the pot before hooking it onto the fireplace hanger to boil. He stirred the contents with one of the spoons, mouth watering at the scent that rose towards the ceiling. He felt comfortable in the kitchen: everything was measured, recipes gave structure, talent saw results and gratitude. Not that canned chicken soup required any of these things, but the act of cooking reminded Ed of how much he missed doing it. Especially for those he cared about. 

He was startled from his reverie as he heard the unmistakable noise of bubbling. He removed the pot from the fire with the fire poker and poured equal amounts of soup into each of the two bowls. There would be no seconds, but at least it was something.

Setting the empty pot on the mantel, Ed carried the bowls over to Oswald and handed one to him, nudging him to get him to move his legs. Oswald grimaced, but complied and Ed sat comfortably next to him. Ed’s shirt was still draped over Oswald’s lap. Ed sighed and set his soup bowl down, reaching over to grab the quilt. He picked up his shirt and folded it before setting it in the chair and covered himself and Oswald in the quilt, finally able to relax.

“I liked the shirt better,” Oswald confessed between slurps. He was swallowing the soup like it was the greatest thing he had ever tasted. By the time Ed had taken his first bite, Oswald’s bowl was half-empty.

“Well, I’d rather not do more laundry should you spill something on it,” Ed retorted. “Besides, now we are both covered.”

Oswald smiled and brought the bowl up to his lips, taking a final sip. Ed just stared at him incredulously.

“I forgot how fast you eat,” Ed said. Oswald laughed, a genuine laugh that made Ed feel warm. 

“I forgot how slowly you eat.” Oswald responded.

They sat in contented silence as Ed swallowed the rest of his soup, feeling sated for the time being. 

Then, Oswald grabbed Ed’s chin and turned him towards him. He scanned Ed’s face for something, though Ed wasn’t sure what that something was. He looked nervous, almost. Ed could understand the feeling. Even with their earlier conversation, Ed knew this must be incredibly difficult for Oswald. To have the person you love turn against you again and again, only to discover how much time they had both truly wasted… Ed was filled with an intense flood of regret once more. Then Oswald spoke, fingertips running gently along Ed’s jaw.

“What about dessert?” 

Ed stared at him, waiting for him to take back his words or laugh. When he didn’t, Ed leaned forward and pressed his lips against Oswald’s tentatively, his mind still filled with anxiety and guilt. He relaxed, however, as Oswald grinned into the kiss and pulled Ed closer, sloppily nipping at his lips. 

Ed tried to let Oswald control the pace of the kiss, but he soon found himself becoming swept up in the moment. He grabbed at Oswald’s hair and tugged forcefully, driven by the whine that left his lips. Their limbs tangled together beneath the quilt as they clung to each other, Oswald’s legs wrapped around Ed’s waist. Ed placed a hand on the thigh of Oswald’s injured leg rubbing circles into the skin, relaxing the muscles. Oswald pulled his lips away, eyes glistening. He pressed his face into Ed’s shoulder and sighed contentedly, hugging him tighter. Ed felt Oswald begin to shake beneath his fingers, felt wet tears against his skin. He immediately stopped and felt his own hands quiver in return.

“Oswald? Are you okay?” Oswald looked up into Ed’s eyes, who was surprised to find that he was smiling. Crying, but smiling. Ed was, understandably, alarmed. “Os—”

“I’m fine, Ed. It’s just overwhelming,” he whispered, wiping away a tear.

“What is?”

“You. Being…” Oswald paused and frowned. “Kind. Soft.” Ed swallowed heavily and looked away, still filled with shame. He immediately felt Oswald’s hand turning him back towards him. “No, I don’t say that to make you think about all that has passed between us. Still, I can’t help but be reminded of  _ before _ .”

Ed knew what he meant. When they were friends, partners in crime, mayor and chief of staff. Before either of them flinched when touching each other. Ed felt distinctly sick as he, too, felt like he could cry. He closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to feel right now. He didn’t want to think about the past, he wanted to get lost in the present. But that was wrong too, he simply wanted to forget. And that wasn’t fair to Oswald. Opening his eyes, he met Oswald’s equally concerned ones. Suddenly, he was struck by an idea. Ed tried to make his face as neutral as he could, despite the sense of longing and desperation he felt as he spoke.

“Hurt me,” he whispered.

Oswald’s eyes widened and he let go of Ed, shaking his head as if he had misheard. “Excuse me?”

“Hurt me, Oswald. Please. I can’t… I can’t do tenderness right now. I want bruises. Please, Oswald,” Ed’s voice cracked as he spoke, he hated how strongly the emotion pierced through.

“Ed, that’s not—”

“I want it, Oswald. I promise this isn’t some sort of, of self-deprecation or psychological torture or punishment, I just want…” Ed didn’t know how to explain himself. He wasn’t really sure why it was so appealing to him, being hurt by Oswald. But the moment the thought had entered his mind, he knew he needed it. Oswald looked down at his hands, which had tightened into fists. Ed followed his gaze and suddenly understood. “I need pain to mean something different. We’ve both been hurt by each other, you more than me, but me all the same. You said you want control, and I want you to take it. Take what you deserve, Oswald.”

Oswald looked up, but still he hesitated. Ed groaned and grabbed Oswald’s wrists, bringing them to his throat. Oswald’s eyes got inexplicably wider. Ed leaned back and pulled Oswald down over him, hands still pressed against his pulse. Oswald’s expression changed from surprise to what looked like wonder

“You are sure this is what you want?” Oswald said slowly. Ed felt the urge to roll his eyes, but knew Oswald needed his clearest response.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“And this isn’t some agenda to punish yourself?”

“No.” Oswald nodded and bent down to kiss Ed deeply. Ed could feel Oswald’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

“Promise you will tell me if I go too far?”

Ed hesitated. As good as it felt to have Oswald care about him, to care that he felt safe, it again gave him that longing to change everything. Eventually, however, he nodded.

“I promise.”

Oswald peppered a few more kisses across Ed’s face until he began to smile. It felt nice, to be so treasured, so taken care of. He had never felt that before. Not with anyone.

That didn’t detract from the relief, the excitement that coursed through his veins as Oswald’s grip tightened around his neck through the kisses, cutting off his air. Oswald pulled away to look down at Ed, his eyes looking a much darker shade of green than usual. He was incredible. He was strong. He was admirable. 

“I love you,” Ed croaked under the pressure, eyes watering as Oswald pressed down harder. Ed’s vision rimmed with Oswald at the center, framed by beautiful, black stars. Just as the darkness closed in further, Oswald seemed to shake himself out of his focused state and released Ed, who took a deep gasp of air.

“Thank you,” Ed whispered. Oswald gave a small smile, seemingly reassured by Ed’s praise. He bent close and nibbled on Ed’s ear. 

“You are a puzzle, Edward,” Oswald said, kissing along Ed’s jaw and licking down his neck. Everywhere his tongue touched felt like fire and Ed was half certain his hands were still around his throat, despite the fact that he felt them in his hair. He moaned softly.

“Then solve me,” Ed said, laughing breathlessly. Oswald chuckled and gave his neck one last gentle kiss before sitting up and pulling the quilt off of Ed, who shivered. Oswald looked at him hungrily, smiling at Ed’s rough breathing and the flush on his cheeks. Ed felt simultaneously too warm and too cold. His face and neck felt like they were burning, while his arms and chest were covered in goosebumps. His hands shook as he shivered.

“Cold, Nygma?” Oswald hissed. Ed nodded. “Good.” At that, Oswald pushed Ed in a gesture that told him he wanted him to flip over. Ed followed the orders, alarmed at how much he enjoyed doing so. He had always craved independence and dominance, and yet there was something so enticing about having the Penguin’s attention on him alone, something that, although he was arguably at Oswald’s will, made him feel equally powerful. 

Oswald’s hand ran down Ed’s spine, touch feather-light. Ed shivered again, teeth chattering. He pressed his body more into the couch, feeling as his half-hard cock rub against the cushion. He bit his lip and ground his hips down. Oswald caught him, however, and grabbed his waist, pulling his ass up into the air and away from the couch. Ed’s face burned harder and he whined, seeking friction. Oswald’s hands returned to their soft caresses, trailing down his torso. 

Without warning, Oswald grabbed Ed’s ass firmly, fingernails digging in and stretching him open. Ed quivered and shook, embarrassment dominating his psyche. Before he could collect himself, he felt a hard smack that resonated through the room. He groaned.

“Oh, gosh,” Ed whimpered, pushing himself back towards Oswald. For a man with little experience, he was incredibly proficient in turning Ed into a blubbering mess. Oswald’s palm came down again, and again, and again, hitting Ed’s ass over and over. Ed felt the shape of Oswald’s handprint etched into his skin and shook, whispering Oswald’s name with every slap.

The hitting stopped as quickly as it had begun and Ed whined at the loss of contact. He tried to turn over, but was held in place. Oswald’s lips were then pressed against the marks he had left behind, kissing him again and again, soothing bruised skin. He bent over Ed once more, who felt Oswald’s cock brush up against his thigh. Both men moaned as Oswald pushed Ed flat against the couch once more. He kissed up Ed’s spine and along the back of his neck, so gentle, so sweet. As Oswald once again reached Ed’s ear, he kissed him there too and began to speak.

“Are you still okay?” Oswald whispered.

“Better than okay.”

“I love you.” Oswald sat up and helped Ed to turn over, who hissed at the feeling of his ass rubbing against the couch. Both of them were hard, red-faced and practically drooling. Oswald kissed him once more, sucking on his bottom lip. 

“Oswald…” Ed whined. Oswald suddenly looked bashful and wouldn’t meet Ed’s eyes. Ed reached up his hands and pressed them against Oswald’s sides, rubbing soothingly. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

“I…” Oswald sighed, carding a hand through his hair, slicking it back. “I am afraid I do not have much experience with any of this.” He glanced nervously back in Ed’s direction. Ed furrowed his brow.

“But you were doing fine. Just breathe, Oswald. I am at your disposal,” Ed said, grinning. Oswald still shook his head. 

“I’m not so sure. I guess, what I mean is,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m constantly afraid that I’m hurting you too much or not enough and with my leg and the bullet wound it is difficult to get comfortable, and—”

Ed shushed him with a kiss, rising up to his level.

“Shhh. It’s alright. You were doing fine.” Ed paused, thinking a moment. “Let me do something for you?”

Oswald watched as Ed carefully extracted himself from between his legs, moving from the couch to the floor. He nudged Oswald so that his legs were facing where he was kneeling and pressed gentle kisses against his injured leg. Taking it once more in his hands, he pressed his thumbs into the tissue in large circles, feeling the knots detangle and Oswald begin to relax. He looked up at the man, whose eyes were lidded as they watched him work. While Ed massaged his flesh, he pressed kisses against the other thigh, smiling as he felt Oswald’s legs shake. 

He released his hold on Oswald and moved his mouth up the curve of his inner thigh, savoring the feeling of the soft, milky skin against his cheek. Oswald sighed and moaned.

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing either,” Ed whispered, grabbing Oswald’s cock in his hand. Oswald covered his mouth to stifle a yelp at the sensation. His face was a beautiful dusty rose that spread to the tips of his ears. “The trick is improvisation,” Ed said, breath cascading across the head of Oswald’s cock. 

Ed had to admit, it was daunting. He had imagined doing this, sure, but to be down on his knees, actually facing the prospect of trying something he might not be good at, terrified him. Still, he would do anything for Oswald. Even now.

He pressed his lips against the head tentatively before taking it into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and over the slit, which caused Oswald to shudder and whine.

“Fuck, Ed,” Oswald cried, hands tangling once more in Ed’s hair. Encouraged, Ed pushed his face down farther until he started to gag, then pulled back a little. Oswald made small, breathy noises that made Ed, too, moan around his cock. The vibrations from the moan made Oswald let out a high-pitched whine and tighten his grip on Ed’s hair, pushing him down slightly. Ed gagged, but made an effort to swallow around Oswald, sucking hard to draw more of those sounds from his lips. 

Ed rubbed one hand against Oswald’s hips as they started to move of their own accord, thrusting into Ed’s throat. Ed felt saliva dribble down his face from the force of it and pushed against Oswald’s hands, wrapping his other palm around the base of Oswald’s cock. He switched between grasping Oswald’s balls and stroking along the parts of his shaft that his lips couldn’t reach. 

He felt the man tense beneath him, moans coming out louder and louder as Oswald shouted expletives into the warm air of the living room.

“Oh, fuck,” he whined. “Fuck, Ed, so good.” Ed hummed and, sensing that Oswald was close, forced his cock down as far as he could manage, closing his eyes to keep from gagging. Oswald’s hips were vibrating from the effort of keeping still as his mouth let out the most beautiful sound yet. Oh, how Edward loved to hear his name on Oswald’s lips as he came, shooting warm liquid down Ed’s throat. Ed swallowed hungrily, sucking as hard as he could, getting every last drop before pulling away, a string of saliva running from Oswald’s cock to his mouth. 

His throat felt sore and abused and he loved it. He collapsed against Oswald’s legs with the effort and gasped for breath, running a comforting hand up and down Oswald’s thigh. Oswald played with Ed’s hair, coming down from his high. 

“That was incredible,” Oswald whispered, looking down at Ed with so much love, he didn’t know what to do with it. Instead of responding, he simply kissed Oswald’s leg and dragged himself back up onto the couch, laying across Oswald’s lap. Oswald laughed, turning his attention towards Ed’s neglected cock. He kissed the top of Ed’s head as he ran his hand up and down in careful strokes. His hands were shaking as he did so. In an effort to calm him, Ed placed his own hand around Oswald’s and they moved together.

“Gosh,” Ed sighed, nuzzling into the crook of Oswald’s shoulder. Everything was warm and still, the only sound coming from the slick noises of their hands against his cock, the rise and fall of Oswald’s chest, the heavy beat of Ed’s heart. Ed mouthed at Oswald’s neck as they continued their efforts slowly, Ed savoring every languid twist of Oswald’s wrist.

Unable to hold on, his hand fell away and grasped at Oswald’s chest. His hips slammed upward into Oswald’s fist. Oswald tightened his grasp and squeezed as he moved up and down, rubbing his thumb over the tip as he went. Ed bit his lip and moaned loudly, grunting with each stroke.

“Oswald, I, I—” Ed broke off as his orgasm took over, cum splattering across both his and Oswald’s bare torsos. Ed bucked upwards, riding out the blissful sensation. He pressed kisses over Oswald’s freckled shoulders, twitching as he finished. Oswald released him and, much to Ed’s embarrassment, licked his hand clean. Oswald hummed, cheeks still pink as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing, either. 

“F-fuck, Oswald,” Ed moaned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The action warranted the profanity Ed usually tried to avoid. Oswald grinned sheepishly.

“Was that okay?” Ed rolled his eyes now.

“Do you really have to ask?” he answered, laughing under his breath. When Oswald pouted, however, his face softened. “It was perfect.” Oswald smiled and yawned, laying his head back against the couch. Ed reached for the coffee table, where the napkins he had grabbed earlier were left. He took one and rubbed it gently over Oswald’s abdomen, wiping him clean, before doing the same with himself. They sat together, leaning against one another while they watched the fire turn to hot coals.

Picking the quilt up off of the floor, he helped Oswald lay down before draping it over him. He groaned at the thought of standing, but he had to take care of the dishes and the laundry. Oswald frowned as he rose.

“I’ll be right back, then we can go to bed. Okay?” Oswald yawned again and nodded, burying his face against the couch cushion.

Ed first gathered the dishes and brought them into the kitchen, using the flashlight to light his way. Then he took one of the bottles of water and poured a little bit into each bowl along with a drop of dish soap. He scrubbed the leftover residue from the bottom and dumped the dirty, sudsy water into the sink. He used a little more water to get the rest of the suds out before leaving the bowls to dry upside down on a dishware rack. 

Returning to the living room, he took the pot that contained the now clean laundry and poured out the used water in the bathroom sink. Then he hung the clothes up to dry before returning to the Penguin, who was now asleep. It amazed Ed how quick he was to drift off, and he smiled at the sight of Oswald’s hair sticking out from underneath the blanket. He bent over the coffee table and blew out the candles, watching gray smoke drift through the air.

Wrapping the blanket around Oswald’s body, Ed put his arms under Oswald’s legs and neck and carried him up the stairs to the bedroom. When they were both in bed, Oswald huddled close to Ed’s side and draped an arm across his chest.

“Goodnight,” Ed heard Oswald whisper. He sighed.

“Did you just want me to carry you?”

“Yes.”

 

Lee walked briskly towards the center of Gotham: Grundy Street. She saw the gentle glow of the neon green sign and smirked, catching sight of Penguin’s Mercedes parked in the alleyway beside Ed’s long-abandoned apartment. She heard the squeal of tires and the pop of gunshots in the distance, but was unfazed. Gotham wasn’t safe before, and it surely wouldn’t be now.

“I thought you’d do better than this, Riddler,” Lee muttered to herself as she found the door to the apartment complex unlocked. Carrying herself up the semi-familiar staircase, she caught sight of the sliding metal door that led the way into the small studio. She tested the handle, but the door didn’t budge.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the lock pick set she had acquired from Tabitha Galavan before setting out on her search. She sat to her knees, remembering what Tabitha had told her about picking locks, about listening for the click as she raked the comb across the pins. It took her several tries, but the lock finally clicked into place as she turned it. Straightening and returning the tools to her pocket, she cracked her neck and loosened her muscles before rolling open the door, drawing her gun. 

She didn’t plan on using it, at least not fatally. She needed them both alive for the trade to work. That was Strange’s price, and she certainly wasn’t going to risk using her new-found abilities (that is what she preferred to call them,  _ powers _ sounded so crude) and risk sucking away more of her life-force. She had already had to use them on Penguin’s men to get to Strange, who was injured as it was. She had tended to his wounds in the hopes that he would fix her, but his bargain was immobile and he knew she wouldn’t strike. 

Besides, she owed Penguin and Riddler nothing. For once in her life, she had no one to answer to, no one to care for but herself. And it was invigorating.

Unfortunately, it was not so simple. Edward’s apartment was empty, illuminated by the emerald glow. She stood a moment, gritting her teeth. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple with Ed. Nothing was ever simple with him. 

Just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, who are you?” Lee turned to see a large, gruff man facing her. He had beady eyes and a mouth that looked like it had lived its life frowning. The man squinted, as if trying to understand the figure before him.

“Doc?”

Lee paused. She looked the man over once more and recognized him as someone from the Narrows. A father of two, laid off from work, depressed yet surprisingly pious.

Lee stepped further into the moonlit hallway and nodded, lowering her gun and raising her hands in a sign of peace.

“Everyone said you was dead,” He said, brow furrowed in confusion. Kind man, extremely dull. She forced a smile.

“Apparently not,” she said. He didn’t return her smile, but his face visibly softened.

“What you doing here?”

“I’m looking for someone. Two people, actually. Perhaps you’ve seen them? Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma.”

“You looking for Penguin and Riddler?” He stared at her incredulously. She gave a patient nod. “Why?”

“They have something that I need. Something that will help me help the citizens of Gotham who are still here.” She smiled, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, trying to remember his name. She was careful not to use her abilities, though she felt the spark of energy at her fingers. “Tom, you’ll help me, won’t you?” 

The man, Tom, seemed surprised she remembered his name. He shrugged.

“What the hell, yeah. Hey, if you gets control of the Narrows again, remember me,” He said, a small grin gracing his features. 

“Of course, Tom. Now, have you seen them?”

“Yeah, they was here early yesterday morning. Drove a fancy car and all, that’s what made me look out my window. When I saw it was Penguin and Riddler, I near about dropped dead. But what I really couldn’t believe was that Riddler left that beautiful car behind and got in this ugly, beat up thing he found in the alley. A green and brown station wagon with a dented bumper. Didn’t get the plate. When he fixed it up, I swear I saw him grab Penguin and carry him to the new set of wheels. They drove off to the West End of Gotham, out the city. Headed towards the National Forest. That’s all I know.” 

Lee said very little else, but thanked the man for his information. It was somewhere to start, at least.

She returned downstairs and pulled out her cell phone to call Tabitha.

“I’ve got a lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so, so, so sorry this update took me a million years, it was the most difficult to write so far despite me having planned it out as soon as the last chapter was uploaded. i hope its length makes up for that a little bit. these boys need to heal.  
> of course, i couldn't let them off that easy, could i?  
> as always, your comments are my favorite thing to wake up to. also, if you do art or make gifs or something and like my story enough to do something related to it, i will love you for the rest of my days, haha. (and i'll credit you in the notes, ofc).  
> anyway, enjoy guys, sorry again this is so late. hopefully the next one won't take as long, though no promises with how crazy my life has been.
> 
> update: hello! just letting you know i have started writing the next chapter, so *hopefully* it will be up much sooner than the last.


	10. Slipping Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m!

It had been two days since Lee had spoken to Tom. She had returned to The Sirens Club like a raging fire, eager to leave and get what she needed. Barbara was just as eager to get Lee out of there, disapproving of her and their semi-forced partnership. Tabitha, however, had stopped her.

_ “We need a game plan. I want to get them as badly as you do, but it would be stupid to drive around without any sort of idea what we are doing.” Tabitha tapped her foot, rolling her eyes at Lee. Lee sighed. _

_ “What did you have in mind?” _

_ “Well, first we should figure out what we know. You know Nygma better than me, tell me how he thinks, the sorts of places he would look for, anything,” Tabby prompted. Lee thought a moment before answering. _

_ “Riddler is intelligent, but relatively unpredictable,” Lee began. _

_ “No one is entirely unpredictable. Think.” And she did.  _

_ “We know where he dumped Kristen Kringle’s body. There is a slight chance that he would have returned to that site, but it seems unlikely. He would know that I would check there. Here,” Lee said, pointing to a map of Gotham State Park, “is that spot.” She marked it with a pen and then stared at the map for a moment. “I figure he would try to get as far away from that site as possible, while avoiding any borders along the State Park so as not to be seen. Therefore, I think we are looking for a place within this parameter,” she concluded, circling a stretch of land about a quarter of the size of the entire park. _

_ “Anything else we can use to limit our search area?” _

_ “Well, Ed is not normally an opportunist, but I believe under these circumstances he would understand the value of adaptation. In other words, he would be looking for a site that would not be connected to him in any way, would contain amenities and possible supplies as well as shelter. He may be well-read, but he is no survivalist. I cannot imagine him building any sort of shelter.” _

_ “So, what you’re saying is we have to find a motel in the forest?” Tabby looked incredulous at the notion.  _

_ “Not a motel, no. Think more… a cabin or a campground,” Lee replied, turning her attention from the map on the table to a computer. She did a quick search for lodging in that area and took note of their locations, marking them on the map using pushpins. There were seven possible locations in total, four of which were designated as open for business, and three which had either closed down or been condemned. It was those three that made Lee smile: Happy Acres Lodging, Pine Grove Retreat and Crimson Family Campground. These were the locations they would visit, in order of their proximity to Gotham. _

Lee kept her eyes trained on the road as she drove ever closer to the destination of the first campground. It was dark outside: they had chosen to catch the men off-guard, springing to action at night. Of course, if they took too long exploring each place, the sun would rise before they found them. Tabitha sat in the passenger seat, grimacing as she took in the endless landscape of trees. It was clear she felt uncomfortable, being outside of her urban playground. Lee was equally certain that Tabitha was impatient to get her revenge on Oswald. 

“What, exactly, do you plan to do when you see him? I need Penguin alive.”

“The greatest way to hurt him is to hurt those closest to him. He took the bullet for Nygma once, but he won’t do it again. I want him to suffer. I want him to watch me torture him, want him to see Riddler turn against him. I want to make Nygma eventually be the one to destroy him, again and again until Oswald has suffered tenfold.” Tabitha’s eyes glistened as she spoke, her voice close to a growl. Lee winced and regretted asking. As little as she cared for Penguin and Edward, such violence and hatred tugged at a part of her heart she thought long destroyed: her morality. 

Even she, who had been wronged by these men time and time again, felt this was going too far. Not that she would say so and risk losing the support of her only ally. She sighed, knowing that she would do nothing to break that fragile trust.

“I won’t stop you,” Lee affirmed, glancing at the woman beside her, who seemed to barely register what she said. There was a pause, then Tabby finally spoke.

“Why does Strange want Penguin anyway?” 

Lee thought a moment. “I’m not sure, to be honest. My best guess? He wants to torture him in the same way he did while Penguin was in Strange’s Arkham. Make him open to suggestion. Kind. Blind to hatred. Something like that. That is, after all, his biggest success story,” Lee said, laughing slightly. Tabitha, too, huffed out a chuckle. “Oswald Cobblepot, self-proclaimed King of Gotham, reduced to his former position as an umbrella boy. I would guess Strange wants that story to stick, to prove himself as the greatest psychiatrist to ever exist, whose controversial techniques could turn even the most wicked into honorable members of society.” Each word was drenched with distaste: Lee never thought she would find herself in a situation where she would have to cater to that lunatic, but Ed and Penguin had gotten her into this situation of their own volition. If they were the only ones who could get her out, she would use them to the best of her ability.

Tabitha nodded. “Even better. A man who knows no hatred is even easier to destroy,” Tabitha nudged Lee conspiratorially. Lee didn’t nudge back, struck by the action. 

“Why do you trust me?” Lee asked before she could stop herself. Tabitha furrowed her brow, as if as puzzled by the question as Lee.

“Partially, it’s because I hate Nygma,” Tabby said, pointing to her once-severed arm. “You killed him. Even if Penguin brought him back to life, adding yet another check on my list of reasons to hate him, you killed Riddler in cold blood. My thought is, you would have done it even if he hadn’t threatened you. You are the sort of woman who knows what she wants and who she needs to go through to get it.”

Even Lee didn’t know whether that was true or not.

“Plus,” Tabby continued, “You know how to fight. You’ve got potential. I don’t say that to just anyone.” 

Lee couldn’t help but grin, knowing those words to be sincere. Still, she didn’t look at Tabitha, who had slumped back in her seat, returning her eyes to the window. 

“Although, I must say,” Tabitha scoffed, breaking the silence. “Jim Gordon held you back. Thank God he’s MIA.”

Lee felt that familiar twinge in her stomach as she pictured Jim’s face in her mind. What would he think of her now? She was certain he wouldn’t still love the woman she had become, despite everything they had been through. She wasn’t Leslie Thompkins anymore. She was the Doc. 

Quietly, Lee mumbled her agreement.

 

Ed stared at the popcorn ceiling of the small bedroom, finding shapes in its sharp edges. Oswald snored by his side, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body. It was early morning and Ed had woken from his sleep quite some time ago, but didn’t have the heart to move and risk waking the man. He smiled as Oswald nuzzled his face deeper into the fabric of Ed’s cotton pajama top. The blankets that covered them both were draped haphazardly across Oswald’s torso, which was covered with a t-shirt. Ed wasn’t used to the man wearing something so plain, so the sight of the shirt itself was comical. Ed gently placed a kiss on the top of Oswald’s head. They had both bathed using warmed well water and soap. Oswald’s hair smelled gently of lilacs and sat uncharacteristically flat against his skull. It gave him a boyish appearance that was as amusing as it was adorable. Ed ran his fingers absently through Oswald’s feathery hair and smiled as it formed that familiar, messy appearance that Ed had so fallen for. 

Then, there was the sound of a car door slamming. Ed jumped and immediately sat up, heart rate quickening. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered, feeling as though he couldn’t breathe. Oswald grumbled as Ed rose from the bed. Ed ignored him and peered through a crack in the curtains. 

The forms in the driveway of the lodge were unmistakable: Lee and Tabitha were there, armed.

_ How did they find us? _ Ed thought.  _ I was so careful! _

“Ed? Come back,” Oswald whined. He was silenced by the sound of the front door creaking open and two pairs of footsteps moving quickly inside.

“Come on, we know you’re here,” said a voice. Tabitha. 

Ed reached into the drawer of the nightstand and drew his switchblade, shoving it in the pockets of his pajama pants. Oswald looked at him with wide eyes. Ed pressed a finger to his lips, praying for him to be quiet.

‘Trust me,’ Ed mouthed. Ed tried to leave the room, but Oswald grabbed him, features pained as he shook his head violently. Ed tugged his hand away. He had to protect Oswald. He had to prove that Oswald was safe with him. ‘I promise,’ Ed mouthed. He wasn’t sure what he was promising, but knew Oswald would understand what he meant.

He took a deep breath before exiting the bedroom, doing his best to channel Riddler, who had been silent for quite some time. He needed all the charisma and confidence he could get if his plan were to work.

As he walked down the stairs, he held his hands high above his head, a sign of surrender. Two guns were pointed on him as the women narrowed their eyes at him. Lee was dressed in all black as per usual, rope draped over her shoulder and several weapons at her belt. Easily identifiable were two bowie knives. Tabitha Galavan had little else on her person, but Ed spotted her whip in its holster and the tip of a knife handle sticking out of her tall boots.

“Nygma,” Tabitha said, spitting his name like poison.

“Lee, Tabitha,” Ed returned, grinning falsely. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

“Cut the shit, Riddler. Where’s Penguin?” Tabitha gritted her teeth. Ed made a show of frowning.

“Dead by your hand, last I checked,” Ed replied, voice quieting slightly as if in contemplation. Lee rolled her eyes and inched closer.

“I met with a witness who said otherwise, claiming he saw you carry Oswald from his car to another,” Lee countered. Ed swore he saw the corners of her mouth turn up. He almost laughed, knowing she assumed she had the upper hand. He was quick to reply.

“Yes. If you must know, I wished to give him a proper burial. It’s the least he deserved after he saved my life. I took him out to the forest, then holed away here.” Ed frowned harder, if that were possible. He looked longingly out the window, as if wishing to make up lost time, time he could never get back. Tabitha tsked and moved close, pressing her gun to Ed’s temple. She leaned up to his ear.

“So you wouldn’t mind if we checked around, would you?” she whispered. Ed could feel the grin on her lips and it made him sick. He pushed the feeling down and shrugged. As he did so, he caught sight of Lee clenching and unclenching her fists. Ed fought back a smile as he realized she needed Oswald alive. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Be my guest,” Ed replied, grateful for the thinness of the walls. He was certain Oswald could hear him from the bedroom, and would do his best to hide and lay low until Ed was able to convince the women to leave. 

He did not expect, of course, to have a hand reaching into his pocket. He looked down in surprise to see Tabitha pull Ed’s switchblade out, dangling it in front of Ed’s eyes.

“You won’t be needing this,” she said, practically glowing. Ed bit back any sort of reply and kept his eyes planted firmly on the wall in front of him. His arms began to ache as he raised them and his fingers shook as anxiety flushed through his veins. He lowered his arms slowly as Tabitha backed away from him, gun still pointed at his face but her eyes elsewhere. Ed let out a quiet sigh and watched with bated breath as the two women walked around the lodge, slamming open doors with their weapons drawn. 

“Mind the walls, you’ll put holes in them,” Ed muttered, scowling at Tabitha who merely laughed and returned to his side, attention back on him. Good. One less person searching for Oswald. 

That didn’t help, however, with that feeling of dread that arose as Lee began to climb the stairs to the bedroom. Tabitha pressed the gun harder into Ed’s head, who could feel the cool bite of the metal and smell the hot scent of gunpowder. 

“I’m not sure what you think I’m going to do,” Ed said, meeting Tabitha’s eyes. She just glared at him, saying nothing.

Lee had opened every door in the upstairs loft, aside from the bedroom. As she grabbed the handle, Ed couldn’t help but swallow nervously. He glanced at Tabitha, who seemed not to notice. Ed stayed still and tried to control his breathing, acting as if it was just one more empty room, trusting that Oswald would be smart. 

There was a long pause as Lee searched the room, the house silent as the grave. Ed’s heart sounded loud in his ears. Then there was a creak and footsteps as Lee’s face appeared above the banister.

“He’s not here,” she called, face pale and furious. Ed grinned, opening his mouth to speak, when the smile was stolen from his face.

Oswald had pressed a blade against Lee’s neck, arms pinning her. He looked livid, his hair was disheveled and he was still dressed in those ridiculous pajamas. Ed felt his shoulders slump as his heart sank to the bottom of his chest.

_ Stupid, Oswald. Stupid. _

“I suggest you walk away, now,” Oswald said, voice cracking. There was a heavy pause before Tabitha began to laugh, pushing the gun upwards and into Ed’s jaw. She glanced pointedly at Oswald, who flinched but kept the knife at Lee’s throat. Ed did not speak, swallowing around the uncomfortable feeling. Lee needed Oswald alive: the same did not apply for him.

“I believe we have the upper hand here, Penguin,” Tabitha hissed, jamming the weapon up harder. Ed felt his skin begin to bruise, and he scanned the room for anything he might be able to use to get both himself and Oswald out of the situation. The only thing his mind attached itself to was Tabitha’s whip, but the position he was in made it too risky to reach for it. Ed closed his eyes, trying desperately to think, when Oswald started to laugh. The sound was so jarring, Ed felt all other thoughts leave his head.

“Why, because you have Ed? As if I care.” Oswald laughed harder, rolling his eyes. “He means nothing to me.”

Although Ed was almost certain Oswald was bluffing, the words still hurt. As much as it pained him, he kept a straight face, not willing to show any weakness.

“He’s a nobody. I used him to save my own skin. I knew there was no other way I would get out of Gotham City if I didn’t take the bullet for him. I knew you needed me for something and wouldn’t let me go. I knew he would fix me and get me out of there. And I know you need me alive now. I couldn’t care less what happens to Edward Nygma. He was dead to me a long time ago,” Oswald spat, expression filled with hatred. 

Ed would have been less hurt had he been shot.  _ He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying _ , Ed tried to remind himself, but his resolve began to shake. Why would Oswald be lying? It made sense. It was smart. It was what Ed would have done. 

_ I don’t deserve him _ , Ed thought, the idea of which outweighed his quiet, logical mantra.

“Really?” Tabitha answered, grinning maniacally. “So this means nothing to you?” Ed caught sight of her fingers reaching for her whip. Too late. She pulled it from her belt and skillfully struck Ed, the leather wrapping itself around his neck. She pulled and it tightened painfully, digging into the bruises Oswald had left there the night before. Ed felt his eyes water as his hands scrabbled at the cord that grew ever tighter, trying in vain to pull it away. He looked up at Oswald, whose hands visibly began to shake. Tears streamed down Ed’s face, which was slowly turning a pinkish-purple hue. 

There were dark rings around his vision by the time Tabitha released him from the whip’s hold. He stumbled and coughed violently. Before he had time to recover, Tabitha kicked him to the floor, pressing her heel into his chest. Ed gasped, feeling something wet drip down his neck. Reaching a hand up, he saw that it was blood: her whip had cut in too far.

Oswald was frozen and the hand holding the knife began to slip. Tabitha increased the pressure on Ed’s ribcage, and he stifled his groans, not wanting to give her the sick satisfaction. Oswald’s knife was now no longer pressed against Lee’s throat as he stared down in horror. Lee took advantage of this moment of weakness and slammed her body backwards into Oswald, who stumbled and dropped the knife entirely. He looked livid and feral, shaking in anger, but Lee was faster. 

Pulling the rope from her shoulder, Lee hurried to pull Oswald’s hands behind his back and bind them. Oswald struggled against her grasp, trying to reach around and bite at her arm. She kicked him hard in his bad leg and he screeched, falling hard on his knees. Tears pricked at his eyes and Ed wanted to do nothing more than help him, to fix everything.

But the pressure on his chest was omnipresent and only grew in strength. There was a sudden and horrible crack that made Ed scream: one of his ribs had broken, followed by excruciating pain that shocked through his body. Lee began pulling Oswald down the stairs, dragging him as he kicked out his legs, trying to get a hold on something to stop her. Upon hearing that wicked and terrible sound, Oswald forced himself back to his feet and fought against Lee’s grip once more, trying to rush forward and get to Ed.

“Ed! Ed!” Oswald cried, voice breaking. Heart breaking. Tabitha removed her foot from Ed’s chest, but he caught the glimmer in her eye and knew his suffering was not over.

“For someone who means nothing to you, you seem awfully concerned for his well-being.” At that, Tabitha brought her whip down across Ed’s chest. The leather broke through the thin fabric of his shirt, cutting across his skin like butter. Hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead, Ed gritted his teeth and hissed in pain. Tightening his jaw, Ed spat at Tabitha. Her eyes flashed and she brought the whip down, again and again. Ed writhed on the floor, hands clenching and unclenching as wounds grew deeper and Oswald felt further and further away.

Despite said feeling, Lee pushed Oswald closer, forcing him to sit on the couch and witness Ed’s pain. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he watched, trying at every second to break away from his captor. He finally bit down on Lee’s hand as it strayed too close to his face. Lee yelled and released him. Oswald stumbled forward, sliding to his knees over Ed, who was beginning to lose consciousness. Oswald turned towards Tabitha, who held the whip between her hands, seemingly impatient.

“Enough! You have me, you have what you wanted. Do whatever it is you must do with me, but leave him out of it,” Oswald begged, eyes blazing. Tabitha easily kicked him out of the way and brought the whip down again. Oswald screamed and tried to intercept it, but was held back by Lee who had recovered and looked angrier and more desperate than ever. To Ed, the burn of the whip was but a subtle sting as the world blurred. He forced himself to stay conscious. Tabitha left him there, struggling, and crossed to Oswald.

“You had the chance to let me die. You saved me, just to have me watch Butch die. I will do worse. I will make sure you can’t even recognize him, I will make him feel pain like no one has ever known.”

Oswald  _ whimpered _ . It broke Ed’s heart to see him so defeated. He groaned as he reached out a hand towards the man.

“I love you, Oswald,” he whispered, voice barely audible through the rasps. Oswald met his eyes and tears streamed down his face. “Don’t let them win.”

Oswald’s face was the last thing Ed saw as the world closed in around him, drifting away into emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry everyone please don't hate me. we can't be happy all the time though, can we? especially not with a ship like nygmobblepot.  
> as always, your comments make me so happy, keep them coming! reminder that i also welcome any fanart/gifs for my fic <3 ily guys!


	11. Blood in the Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rated m for violence, i.e. psychological and physical torture. it wouldn't be Gotham city without it

_ The pain in his neck was abrasive. It felt as though he were swallowing hot coals. Still, the sight of the warm fireplace, the feel of the silk robe against his skin made the pain bearable.  _

_ The Van Dahl estate had an air of comfort despite being so large and having seen so much hardship and pain. As Ed lounged on the patterned sofa, he did what he could to keep from coughing. The last thing he wanted was to worry Oswald. To distract himself, he recited the value of pi in his mind numbly, taking in the soft, lavender hue of the moonlight. _

_ 3.14159265358979323846…  _

_ Oswald’s familiar footsteps sounded in the doorway and brought him back into reality. He coughed, unable to help it, as Oswald rounded the corner of the couch, teacup in hand. Ed met those soft green eyes that looked at him with so much concern. _

_ He had never felt like he belonged, like his life had a purpose, before Oswald. That was a thought that Ed didn’t know what to do with. _

_ As quick as Oswald had been to worry, he put on a smile, thrusting his arms outward with the cup. It knocked gently against saucer as the man’s hands shook, the only sign that he was still anxious. Ed smiled back, pretending not to notice. _

_ Oswald hesitated momentarily before sitting beside him on the couch. Even when he did so, he sat on the edge of the cushion, though Ed wasn’t sure why. He stared down at the cup, feeling Oswald’s eyes on him. _

_ Oswald was a buzz of electricity, a low hum of energy that seemed to never cease.  _

_ “It’s ginger tea with honey. My mother’s remedy for a sore throat,” Oswald said, scanning Ed’s face. Ed stared back, seeing his own reflection in Oswald eyes, illuminated by the firelight. He gave Oswald another small smile that faded quickly.  _

_ If Oswald had asked what was wrong, Ed wouldn’t have known what to tell him. It wasn’t the pain, it was something else entirely. It was the fact that Oswald was simultaneously too close and not close enough, it was how warm and safe Ed felt to be around him, how each gentle glance, touch and praise made Ed’s face grow warm with delight. It was the fact that Oswald could never know. _

_ Of course, Oswald had seen that something was wrong. Ed tried to cover it up by raising the cup to his lips when Oswald slowed him with his words. _

_ “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?” _

_ “No, I’m fine,” Ed rasped dismissively. Speaking made him cough again, and he turned away from Oswald, who let out a light sigh. _

_ “I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what you were doing,” Oswald said, leaning a touch closer. Ed took an indulgent sip from the cup and felt the soothing liquid caress his throat before answering.  _

_ “Your shock, when seeing Butch, had to be genuine,” Ed answered, swallowing as he gazed back. “The people had to believe it.” Oswald broke the stare first, brows tightening together. Ed let out a puff of air in amusement and the joy of success. “And they did. And once again you’re the city’s hero.”  _

_ “You were almost killed,” Oswald said. _

_ “And you saved me. Again,” Ed laughed and coughed. Oswald’s lips quivered and he remained quiet. Ed took a breath. “I hope you know, Oswald. I would do anything for you. You can always count on me” _

_ The hug that followed was more soothing than even the best cup of tea. Ed learned something new about Oswald that night: he was brave, smart, violent and ambitious, but he could also be gentle. More gentle than Ed could have ever expected. Oswald’s soft caresses lulled Ed into a dream-like trance, and he realized there was nowhere else he would rather be. _

_ He would give anything to live and die for this man. _

When Ed opened his eyes, it was as if he had been hit by a truck. There was the bright, artificial light of an industrial lamp beside him. His wrists were bloodied from being restrained against a stiff metal chair that had been firmly nailed into the cement floor. The metal was freezing against his clammy skin.

Overshadowing these senses, however, was an all-encompassing pain. Ed’s chest screamed as the welts from the whip burned and throbbed. He attempted to move his head and take in the damage, but the pain in his neck was too great. Tears formed in his eyes as he gasped in agony. With each labored breath, Ed could feel his ribs grinding against each other. He tried to center himself in the pain. Eight welts. Two broken ribs. A heavily-bruised neck with multiple lacerations. Cuts on his wrists. An abrasion on his jaw from the pressure of Tabitha’s handgun.

It took everything just for Ed to keep from wailing in agony. His dream had been so blissful. Ed had Oswald, and then he was gone. 

How had Lee found them? He thought he had been so careful not to leave a trace. Not to go anywhere with ties to either him or Oswald. Somewhere that the gas in the car would have taken him, somewhere not too far outside of Gotham to make returning impossible. 

But the more he calculated, the easier it was for him to understand how he had been found. He followed the trail in his head; no connection; lead from witness; direction of exit; refusal to switch cars again; distance from Kristen’s body; distance from opposite edge of the forest; abandoned refuge with essential amenities. A quick search within Ed’s carefully constructed radius would have yielded desirable results.

Ed’s hands shook in anger. Oswald had been right all along: Ed wasn’t The Riddler, he was a fool.

‘Finally, you’re acknowledging it,’ came a familiar voice. Ed turned in the direction of the voice despite not needing to see its owner. He began to cough violently as he did so, tears rolling down his cheeks. Riddler began to laugh. ‘I can’t believe it.’

Ed’s coughing died down and he groaned. “Can’t believe  _ what _ ?” he growled through gritted teeth.

‘You blocked me out for so long. For what? For  _ him? _ ’

“I didn’t need you,” Ed said softly. “I still don’t.”

‘Right, like you could handle anything by yourself. If you had been thinking logically, you would have recognized how Lee was able to trace us. Instead, you were weak. Oswald makes you weak!’ If he could have, Ed would have walked away. It was torture to listen to the voice inside his head, knowing that this time there would be no escape. 

“You’re wrong,” he whispered.

‘How am I wrong exactly?’

“You say that love makes me weak. I have thought that for so long. You told me that and I believed you again and again because I had been hurt by love again and again. But  _ you _ were always wrong. Love, real and destined, is the strongest thing in the world.” Ed raised his chin defiantly, wincing as he did so. Riddler just laughed harder. 

‘How disgustingly romantic,’ Riddler sighed. He crossed closer to Edward, leaning into his face. ‘And are you feeling strong, Eddie?’

Ed’s head began to pound in that familiar way: Riddler was trying to escape, to break loose. Although there was a part of him that wanted to let go, he wouldn’t let Riddler have this. He wouldn’t let him win. Ed was strong. He would solve this. He would get Oswald back and fix everything, even as Riddler laughed at his mistakes. 

Then the door opened with a loud click, revealing Tabitha, whip in hand, followed by Barbara Kean and two cloaked women. Ed expected Riddler to disappear, but he just stood off to the side, a wicked smirk on his face. Ed was sickened to realize the truth: Riddler wanted Ed gone, so only he remained. So Ed would be too weak to fight.

“Let’s play a game, shall we, Riddler?” began Tabitha, circling Ed like prey. “I ask you a question. If you get it wrong, you will be tortured. If you get it right, you’ll still be tortured, but less so. Sounds fun, yes?”

“Is that my first question?” Ed answered with a huff, rolling his eyes. Talking hurt, and Ed tried desperately to remember what Oswald’s tea felt like. He closed his eyes and recalled how the warm, honeyed liquid soothed his soul like magic. When his eyes opened once more, he managed a smile. 

“Great,” Tabby said, looking unamused. “First question—”

“Why are we playing these games?” interrupted one of the robed women. She stepped forward, face illuminated by the light of the lamp. Ed didn’t recognize her: she had tan skin and a soft accent that he couldn’t quite place. “He has hurt you dearly in the past. If I may be so bold, wouldn’t you like to give him the same treatment?” 

Barbara, too, moved forward and held up a hand. “Patience, let Tabitha do it her way. He’s her toy, after all.” She grinned and placed a hand on her hip, glancing at Tabitha with a sparkle in her eyes.

Ed kept his mouth shut. 

‘I can’t wait to watch you lose and beg for my help,’ Riddler said, unable to keep quiet. Aside from the clench in his jaw, Ed didn’t react. Tabitha cleared her throat, beginning to look impatient before putting on a smile once more.

“First question. What goes up when rain comes down?”

Ed nearly laughed. “An umbrella. Next question.”

Tabitha’s smile widened and, before Ed could prepare himself, she brought her whip down hard against his torn shirt. Ed flinched, careful not to let his true pain show. 

“I got the right answer,” he said softly, surprised.

“I never said you didn’t,” Tabby replied. “Next question: I am known for my natural tuxedo and marching.” Ed groaned.

“A penguin. Did you get these out of a children’s book?”

The minute the words were out of his mouth, he was whipped again. His wrists pulled against the restraints instinctually as he stifled a pained gasp. There was a moment of silence where even Riddler didn’t speak. Tabitha broke it.

“What does Oswald think of you?”

Edward didn’t hesitate. He remembered the look in Oswald’s eyes as he was being hurt by Tabitha, the way he kissed him. The way he forgave him again and again, the way he listened to Ed and worked with him through his hesitancies. “He loves me.”

Once again there was a pause. Tabitha’s face, initially unreadable, opened up and began to glow as if she had just been given a present. She snapped her fingers. The minute the melodic click sounded through the tinny air of the room, the cloaked woman who had spoken earlier rushed forward. She was holding a sharp metal tool resembling a fat hook. Ed recognized it immediately and began to shake, trying to push back against the restraints and shield his hands, to no avail. All he could do was clench his jaw and close his eyes as the hook slipped under the fingernail of his right pointer, ripping it off. He let out a prolonged yell, unable to hold it back. He grimaced as his body shook with a sob. He swore he heard the crunch as his ribs scraped together once more. 

Barbara, too, was by his side. She held a dagger in her hands and slowly and deliberately cut a stripe down his chest and across one of the fresh welts from the whip. Riddler remained quiet through it all, the only thing that allowed Edward to hold onto his humanity.

As much as his counterpart might wish it wasn’t true, they shared the same body. He needed Ed alive, but just barely.

After what felt like an eternity, the women backed away to stand beside Tabitha, whose eyes burned maliciously.

“In case it wasn’t clear, you got that one wrong. We’ll try again later.” With that, she left the room, the others following soon after. Ed waited for the door to shut to weep.

 

Time continued like that for a while. Ed had no way to keep track of how long he had been there: there wasn’t even a window in his room. He didn’t know if hours or days passed between the visits of Tabitha Galavan and her gang, he just knew that they always returned and they always punished him. 

But Ed was strong. Oswald made him strong. He thought of the kisses, the tea, the hugs, the pain and the joy. Each time he received a meal, which was a rare occasion it seemed, he imagined what it would feel like to see Oswald again.

That was why, each time he was asked how Oswald felt about him, he answered the same way.

“He loves me.”

Meal time, in fact, was the only time Ed felt hopeful. That was his window of opportunity, as he would be allowed out of his restraints to feed himself. And it was his only chance to relieve himself before his captors came back. If he could just hold out a little longer, become a bit stronger… 

Of course, he knew even his own stupid stubbornness would break down eventually. If not due to physical pain, mental. He had grown increasingly tired of penguin riddles.

One day, however, Tabitha entered his room alone. Ed tensed immediately and attempted to curl in on himself, an impossible feat due to the restraints. He was incredibly weak from being in one position for so long, regardless of the injuries. He thought he would die if someone so much as poked him. As much as he wished he could will away his own fear, it grew with each step she took towards him. 

Tabitha reached towards her belt causing Ed to flinch. To his surprise, however, she held out a cell phone.

“You have a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please appreciate this update, i injured my arm yesterday but fought through the pain to get this out.  
> i know this is a shitty situation, but as i said in the last one, it needs to get real bad before it gets better. hang in there, folks!  
> the last chapter i posted had some of the kindest comments and feedback of any i've uploaded so far, and I hope you all understand how much your support means to me! it's truly humbling to get such positive response for my writing. writing is something i'm very passionate about and take seriously, so it means a lot that people enjoy what i write!  
> as always, comments and kudos are fantastic, and i will gladly and humbly accept fanart/gifs/etc centered around this story! love you guys!  
> p.s. yes, this chapter is named after the k. flay song. if that song ain't about nygmobblepot then i don't know what is.


	12. Do You Want Me (Dead)?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m i suppose

It had been four days since Oswald had seen Ed. Oswald felt sick to remember Ed as he was when they were separated: unconscious, bloodied, broken. 

_ Don’t let them win. _ That’s what he had said. But what could Oswald possibly do to stop them?

The makeshift cell he sat in was cold, the walls the color of pea soup. Within its confines, Oswald had a cot, a bucket, a straightjacket and a tray of food to his name. There was a small window near the ceiling that let in light, but didn’t allow Oswald to see much else. He would have tried to move the cot to look, but it was nailed to the floor. 

Though Oswald wasn’t positive on his location (he had been blindfolded during transport), he was able to hear the sound of waves, the clang of a bell on an abandoned ship, the sound of seagulls cawing. He knew he was near the harbor. That, along with the occasional sound of a foghorn, helped him to determine that he was on the northern end, not far from those cursed docks. Perhaps at one of Lee’s safehouses in the Narrows? 

Regardless, it smelled of piss and booze. Oswald didn’t want to touch anything.

Most of Oswald’s time was spent alone. Every now and again, he would hear Strange’s voice, see Lee’s cold eyes and, at the worst of times, he would see Barbara. 

Lee would bring him food and drink. Despite all she had done to him and Ed, there was still softness to her touch. That made Oswald hate her all the more: she had the capability to do good, and yet she bent to her own selfish needs. Oswald had asked her why she stayed, why she didn’t just turn him over to Strange and leave. She had been quiet for a while.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I need,” she had eventually replied. Oswald wasn’t sure how much he believed her.

Strange would just splutter and moan out his compliance with Lee’s demands, whining about the injuries Ed had left on him—none of which were life-threatening. Oswald had learned why he was such a powerful bargaining chip, however. Strange had big plans for him. Plans to ‘revert his condition.’ Oswald shuddered at the thought.

There was also the odd, nagging thought that refused to leave Oswald’s head: Strange was stalling.

But Barbara… Barbara was the worst. The only reason she ever entered Oswald’s cell was to force Oswald to see Ed. Not in the comforting way and certainly not in person.

She showed him pictures and videos of Edward’s torture. The audio was always cut off, but it didn’t matter. Oswald felt as though he could hear him all the same.

Which is why, when Barbara entered his cell yet again, Oswald shrunk away, trying to hide his eyes. Two women followed her, as per usual, and held Oswald in place so he was forced to meet Barbara’s piercing gaze. 

“Oswald, darling, you know the drill. No need to act coy,” Barbara said, grinning. Oswald kept his mouth shut, wincing as she pulled out a phone and held it in front of his face.

As much as Oswald wanted to close his eyes, the pictures proved to him that Ed was still alive. If he didn’t see them, he couldn’t hold onto even that small thought.

Still, when he saw the picture, he wanted nothing more than to look away.

Tabitha was holding Ed’s head up by his hair, which was greasy and unkempt. He appeared to be so weak that he couldn’t hold himself up. His body was soaked with blood, the clothes from the lodge shredded from continual beatings. His face was streaked with dirty tears and still more blood. His chest was covered in half-assed bandages and fresh wounds. 

His eyes were what hurt the most. 

Dark and unfocused, Ed looked entirely broken. There was no light in his expression, yet his jaw was clenched in a small act of determination. His body was failing as his soul continued to fight. The circles under his eyes were so dark they appeared to be bruises. Oswald didn’t bother to fight the anger that overwhelmed him. He began to shake violently.

“You’re going to fucking kill him!” he screamed. “I will destroy everything you’ve ever had and ever loved if you don’t release Edward this instant. I will be your worst  _ fucking  _ nightmare. If Tabitha thinks she has seen my wrath before, she has no idea what is coming. Everything you’ve built will burn to the ground, just as Gotham did. You will beg for mercy and you will not get it.” 

Oswald was seething at his own words and spat in Barbara’s face. She frowned and wiped it away.

“Gross,” she muttered. She sighed and shrugged. “We’re gonna do what we want, Oswald, sweetie,” Barbara said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “But we need something from you, first.”

Oswald grimaced and fought against the restraints of the straight jacket, trying to tear out of it. He let out a loud, frustrated scream as he held eye contact, kicking his legs out violently. “You will not get away with this! You cannot do this!” he yelled. He didn’t want to hear what she would ask of him. He didn’t want anything from her except Ed, released and safe in his arms. So he could kiss him one last time, could remind him that after everything they had been through, Oswald loved him and forgave him. 

Barbara rolled her eyes. “He could make this a lot easier on himself if he wanted to. He is, shall we say… stubborn.” She grinned and hit a few buttons on the phone in her hand. Oswald watched her quizzically. Seeing his gaze, she clarified. “We want you to call him.”

Oswald must have looked incredulous because she was quick to continue. “You won’t be able to say what you want, of course, unless you want him to lose a finger each time you mess up. No, there are very  _ specific _ things we need you to tell him. Make it believable and life might just get easier for him.”

Oswald swallowed. Of course there were rules. Barbara reached into her sparkly black clutch and pulled out a sheet of paper. She set it down on the cot next to Oswald, pressing and flattening it.

“Think of this as your tentative script. You don’t need to read from it exactly, but should you deviate from its general theme, Edward may not live to see another day.” Barbara paused, giving Oswald a long, hard look that told him she meant it. His eyes drifted to the page. “I’ll give you a moment to familiarize yourself with it and get into character. Shout if you need anything! Or don’t, I don’t really care,” Barbara said finally, stepping outside the room with a laugh as the other women followed. Oswald barely heard her: the words from the page rose up and scorched his heart.

_ I don’t love you, _ it read.  _ You’re sick, I hate you and I never forgave you. I was using you all this time.  _ Etc., etc., etc. It got worse as Oswald read, and he felt his eyes grow heavy with despair. He needed a plan, fast. 

And, luckily, one came to him. He practiced his careful speech in his mind, double and triple checking it. He just hoped Ed was still in there, that they hadn’t beaten him out of his mind. 

He called weakly to Barbara, who reentered and put her hand on her hip.

“Remember, Ozzie, you hate him!” Barbara said cheerfully. Oswald gave her an exasperated look and nodded. She dialed the phone and put it on speaker. It rung a few times before the line was picked up.

The noise on the other end was little but static and inconsistent shallow breaths. Oswald’s mouth felt unbelievably dry and he began to sweat. He opened and closed his mouth several times to speak before he took a breath to settle himself. He closed his eyes and brought forth the venom he felt towards these women who had taken everything from him and channeled it into his voice.

“They were right about you,” he began, spitting the words as he shook. There was an audible gasp on the other end, as Edward whispered Oswald’s name. His voice cracked and he sounded desperate. Oswald swallowed his worry and continued, hurrying through the words as they cut daggers into his soul. “Made out of stone, cruel and sick. Me, in love with you? Say that again, I dare you. This is the end of everything. I hate you, I hate who you are and the things you have done. Love? You are so naive. You talk of intelligence, of which you have none. Are you blind to my true emotions? So lost in your sick fantasies that you can’t bare to think that I might still hate you, might not forgive you? Smart, you are not. You are a fool. Will you ever learn? Find me in the afterlife, and I will still hate you. A day does not pass where I do not think about how you have harmed me. Way back, when I considered you a friend, perhaps, but those days are long gone. Out and away. I hate you, Edward Nygma. Know this: You will never be forgiven.” 

He felt a deep, immeasurable exhaustion come over him as he spoke those last words. The line was quiet for only a moment until Ed finally broke. His sobs were loud and violent as Barbara snapped the cell phone shut. Oswald shuddered and dropped his head, weak and scared. He had either helped Ed the only way he knew how or had done the worst thing possible. His tears sounded genuine… what if he truly couldn’t figure it out?

“Color me impressed,” Barbara said, clapping her hands together. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t even faking it!” Oswald glared at her and felt the tears drip down his cheeks before he could even respond. She gave a wicked grin and left the room for the last time, heels clicking as she moved. 

Oswald curled in on himself on the cot, facing the wall and letting his emotions overcome him. All he could do was wait.

 

When Tabitha asked the question once again, Edward hesitated.

Following the phone call, she had left him without a word, a smug expression on her face. With each word Oswald uttered, Ed felt himself falling deeper and deeper into a pit that was impossible to crawl out of. He dry-heaved, sobbing with reckless abandon. Riddler laughed and laughed and laughed and Ed was certain he was losing his mind, if it wasn’t lost already. 

So, the question of Oswald loving him? Perhaps he had been lying to himself all along. After all, who could love someone like him?

“He despises me. I am nothing to him. I am worthless.” Ed’s voice cracked, back in the present. His eyes blurred as he stared at the ground, too weak to even prepare himself for Tabitha’s imminent attack. He felt nothing but defeat and an all-encompassing loneliness.

When Tabitha’s assault didn’t come, Ed didn’t have the energy to feel surprised. In fact, there was a sick, sad part of him that wished she would. At least that could distract him from Oswald’s stinging words.

Instead, Ed felt the restraints on his hands being undone. It wasn’t as if he had the strength to fight back, not anymore. He stared blankly at his wrists, acknowledging their purple hue. 

Oswald looked dashing in purple.

A tray of food was set on the table beside Ed’s chair. Despite his lack of food, he nudged the tray away. He had no desire to eat. Tabitha turned and closed the door behind her with a slam. 

Ed’s eyes were unfocused and he sat in silence for a long while, too dehydrated to cry anymore. He shook now and then, but otherwise remained still and empty. Finally, he noticed Riddler was staring at him.

“What?” Ed moaned, blinking slowly, eyes crusty from his lack of sleep.

‘I thought it was a nice gesture,’ Riddler said, face unreadable. Ed stared back in confusion before foggy green letters filled the air between him and Riddler. It was Oswald’s words from his phone call, spelled out in a letter format.

That’s when Ed understood. The  _ letter _ .  _ Oswald’s letter. _ His eyes widened as the message became clear, words seeming to bounce forward in his vision and collect into a coherent thought.

_ They made me say this. I love you. You are so smart, you will find a way out. I know you. _

For the first time since he was taken, Ed felt hope. He met Riddler’s gaze and they stared at each other, identical grins forming.

‘So,’ he said, cocky as ever. ‘Ready to get out of this hell hole?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! my injury has healed, it was pretty minor, thank god!  
> chapter title is the All Time Low song. fun fact: they were my favorite band for years, up until their newest album (still salty and disappointed regarding that). anywho, this song slaps and is definitely about nygmobblepot  
> guess we know what was up with that phone call, huh? i'm curious if anyone knew what Oswald's plan was before Ed figured it out.  
> as always, i love your feedback and support, and thank you so much for reading. i would have stopped writing long ago if it weren't for your continual support. or, at least, stopped posting. anyway, what i'm trying to say is that you guys encourage me to keep writing!  
> i'm not sure how quick i'll be with my next update. perhaps it would be easier if i stuck to a schedule, but those stress me out tbh soooo i'm sorry for being all over the place.  
> update!!!  
> hello all,  
> i'm so sorry it's taking me forever for this next update. idk if u guys even check these chapters to see my little notes, but i also know that i hate it when authors post another chapter just to make announcements, so this is all i can think to do.  
> basically, this next chapter has been a tad tricky to work out, but i assure u it is fully planned and about half-done. the problem is that i got sick and then immediately had to leave home for a bit. i have one more week starting today until i head back to college, so i'm going to try to crank at least two more chapters out this week, but of course i make no promises because i'm dumb lol  
> anyway, thanks as always for your patience, and i will do my best to get the next chapter out as quick as i possibly can. <3


	13. Unsuspecting Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated t!

“ _ Fuck  _ Penguin,” Ed hissed, spitting out words he hadn’t felt for a long time. Tabitha smiled at him and nodded.

“Agreed,” she said, nodding at the women standing beside her. Ed flinched, used to equating the tap of their heels with pain. Pain that, this time, didn’t come.

Ed released a shallow breath of relief as Tabitha and the female guards left the room, weapons in hand. He turned his head to grin at Riddler, who rolled his eyes.

‘Stop acting as if you’ve done something incredible. You didn’t get hurt, so what? We’re still stuck in this dump.’ He frowned and kicked at the wall. Ed chuckled.

“The  _ reason _ I’m smiling is because they’re starting to believe me,” Ed whispered in return, meeting Riddler’s eyes. “They’re starting to believe that Oswald means nothing to me. If profanity is what is needed to get them to take me seriously, so be it.” Ed would have waved his hand nonchalantly had he not been tied down. The result was a twitch of his fingers, which drew his attention towards the bloodied scab where his fingernail had once been. He frowned at the sight, clenching his jaw in anger. “I can feel it. I’m close to getting us out of here. And when I do, they’ll pay.”

It was Riddler’s turn to laugh. ‘Right, you’ll bring the heat. With your broken ribs, bruised neck and however many welts from being whipped. You can’t even fight on a good day.’

“Maybe not physically,” Ed admitted. “But I am smarter than them. I don’t need to be strong to destroy someone.”

‘Like when you destroyed Os? That  _ totally _ worked.’ Ed groaned and looked away. 

“Don’t remind me of that. Besides, Oswald is…” Ed paused, searching for the right words. Riddler sighed.

‘Different?’ 

Ed met his gaze once more. “Yes, for lack of a more intelligent word.” Riddler practically snarled. “My point is, he was destined to rise again. He is the strongest person I know and will ever meet.” Riddler stared at him for a moment before bringing a finger to his mouth and pretending to gag. Ed rolled his eyes, knowing that Riddler was just another part of him. Surely, somewhere, there was a piece of this apparition that felt the same. 

Ed turned his attention back towards the room around him. He silently reviewed his theories on the structure itself.

It was a large, metal shipping container that had cement lining the walls to limit sound transfer between the inside and outside. Long fluorescent lights resembling those in a hospital had been installed with a shoddy wiring job that extended across the ceiling and into the ground on the opposite side of the room. They were constantly left on, providing an annoying, electric hum and inconsistent flicker. Ed assumed that the lights had been wired to feed off of the same power grid that provided electricity to the streetlights of the shipping container facility.

Ed had determined that his room was a mere third of the entire unit, based off of the small view he received upon the opening and closing of the door to his chamber. This meant that his senses were limited to what was going on inside the container. He could only guess as to what part of Gotham he was in, due to the large number of container yards throughout the city. 

The average shipping container resembling the kind Ed guessed he was in measured around forty feet long by eight feet wide. That would mean his own room was close to thirteen feet by eight feet. As he looked around, the measurements felt at least somewhat accurate. 

The wall separating his cell from the rest of the container was built using steel, likely taken and repurposed from another container. The door between portions was thicker, sturdier. It was made from heavy steel and required a code to unlock and relock. Ed had also noticed a metal slot on the door, about the right size for a bar latch. Perhaps it served as an extra protective locking measure should power to the unit stop running. In other words, unless the bar latch was engaged, the guard would have to exit the cell and manually relock it in order to secure it once more. Ed supposed he could try to make a run for it when he was given a chance to walk to the bathroom, but he knew he didn’t have the stamina to outrun the women who controlled him. 

Said women dressed in black, often wearing flowing robes that gave them an elongated, threatening physique. Most wore their hair slicked back. They were all armed to the teeth: hidden daggers, whips and guns coated them like armor. What interested Ed the most, however, was what they wore on their belts.

Cell phones. Ed had spotted them several days earlier as one of the guards had leaned down to undo his ankle straps before a bathroom trip. He had pocketed that observation away for later, the memory of the flimsy clip that held the phone to their belt imprinted in his mind. 

He was allowed to use the small bathroom twice each day. Thirty minutes following his meetings with Tabitha and around ten minutes following each meal. Give or take, of course. His only clock was internal. 

The bathroom itself was such a tight squeeze, Ed barely fit inside. It took up perhaps a quarter of his cell. The walls were built from the same metal material as the separating wall of his room and the space was adorned with nothing but a toilet, toilet paper and sink. All were cheap, simply there to serve the purpose required of them, with no room or tolerance for comfort. There was no mirror, perhaps because his captors were worried that he would shatter the glass. 

There was a part of Ed that wished he could see himself to assess the damage. The other part knew he wouldn’t recognize the person he saw.

When Ed was given the chance to use the toilet following his meetings with Tabitha, it was a more difficult process than the one that followed his meals. With his newly attained injuries, Ed had often struggled to stand, resulting in him being dragged across the floor and shoved through the bathroom door by the guard, then dragged out again. The guards also seemed to be more on edge during these moments than following Ed’s meals. Perhaps because a cornered animal becomes desperate. Desperation leads to action. Action leads to violence. Ed understood, though it made his own situation more difficult. Therefore, he came to the conclusion that this was wasted time, not worth using in his method of escape.

His after-meal bathroom break was an entirely different story.

 

Ed didn’t know when a day began or ended. He instead thought of days as Rotations. One Rotation was defined by a visit from Tabitha, followed by the bathroom, followed by a meal, followed by the bathroom again, with plenty of unidentifiable time in between before repeating. He had passed ten Rotations since he began planning his escape, waiting, letting his strength and hope slowly come back.

He was on part three of Rotation Eleven: meal. 

First came the series of beeps outside the door that signaled the code input. There were four beeps, equating to four numbers. If only Ed could see the pin-pad, he knew that he could figure out the system simply by examining the wear on the keys. No such luck, of course.

A tall, slim woman entered the room, eyes menacing, hair pulled back in a tight, high ponytail. She held a cold metal tray with a paper plate, with several chicken wings and a napkin. He followed her with his eyes, recognizing her to be one of his more frequent guards. He took a calming breath and grinned at her, feigning interest, commencing the first part of his plan. She set the tray on the table beside him and, like usual, paid him little mind: though perhaps there was a confused glance and an eyeroll. She nimbly released Ed’s wrists from his restraints, leaving his ankle cuffs in place. She leaned close enough for him to smell an industrial sort of musk emanating from her. 

He knew he had to move quickly. The minute his hands were released, he made a soft, humming sound in the back of his throat as he brought his left hand to the woman’s cheek and hair, caressing it, pretending to be enamored. 

“You’re beautiful,” he heard himself croak, unable to hide his grin as her eyes were filled with fury. How predictable. How simple. 

Just as he expected, she let out an angry puff of air and slammed his hand down on the metal table, crushing it. Ed fought back with that hand, risking whatever pain she might bring, and quickly grabbed what he needed, hiding it in his pocket. He gave up his fight, not wanting to push the woman so far she might pull a dagger from her belt and stab him. It wasn’t as if he wanted anything to do with her. She was little more than a tool, an instrumental device in his escape plan.

The guard bent his wrist back painfully. He hissed and held up his right hand in mock defeat. Still, she did not yield, instead pushing farther and bringing her face close to his.

“Touch me again and you lose your hand,” she said, gritting her teeth. She spit on him and released his arm, walking swiftly from the room and slamming the door behind her. 

“I have no intention of it,” Ed muttered, wiping his face and cradling his wrist. He could see that it had grown red from how hard she had gripped it, though there was no serious damage. Despite the pain she had given him, there was something different about his meal-time guards from the ones he met when Tabitha entered the equation. They felt amateur, and Ed was certain that were he in peak condition, he could overpower them with little trouble. Perhaps they were mere apprentices in Tabitha’s entourage? No matter. At least he wasn’t hurt more than before. He twirled his wrist in circles a few times to be sure and, relatively pain-free, felt a wide smile spread across his lips.

He had done it.

Still, he had only around twenty minutes, a number he had come upon after counting the time in his head for the past ten Rotations.

His hand shook as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the stolen cell phone. Never before had he been so excited to be holding a flip phone. Opening it, he heard the sound of clapping and laughter behind him. It wasn’t mocking, as it normally was. No, this time, it was genuinely celebratory.

‘Finally, I thought you’d never do it. How’d it feel to hit on a girl again, Eddie?’ Riddler stood behind him. Ed swore he could feel his presence, but just rolled his eyes, not dignifying him with a response. He vaguely heard Riddler’s follow-up: ‘You never were that good at it, of course. Too… touchy.’

Continuing to ignore him, Ed cracked his knuckles and flipped open the phone. He closed his eyes and mentally recited the phone number he needed to reach. It had to be right. Nothing could go wrong here. There was only one person who was even halfway competent enough to get him out of this hell-hole. 

Yes, Jim Gordon would not only be useful, but could be usefully manipulated. Ed and Riddler grinned simultaneously as Ed typed out the text and hit the send button. Ed waited for the sent confirmation before he removed the battery from the phone and stowed the parts in his underwear, knowing the pocket to be too obvious a spot.

He turned his attention to the chicken wings, grinning at his own luck. He ate ravenously before breaking one of the bones in his hand, grabbing two of the larger, splintered pieces and shoving them down his sleeve. When the time was right, he would use them to pick the locks on his cuffs and escape.

As per usual, the same woman returned in twenty minutes to remove his tray. She glared at him and, if her eyes had been blades, Ed would have been slashed to pieces. He pretended to look shameful and avoided her gaze. She secured him back in place to wait the next ten minutes for the bathroom break.

Then she left. 

She hadn’t noticed the phone. He let out a heavy breath and a chuckle.

Those ten minutes flew by and Ed was released again and shoved to his feet by a new guard—they switched between tasks. This guard was curvy, cropped hair styled into a wild mohawk. She pushed him into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. She had directed him forcefully, but Ed didn’t care. He pulled the evidence from his underwear and dropped it into the toilet and flushed.

As the water flowed, Ed felt as though he could see Jim jumping into his cruiser, desperate to save that  _ bitch _ .

 

Jim had been staying at Wayne Manor since Gotham was leveled. He didn’t talk to anyone aside from Alfred, Lucius and Bruce. And Harvey, when he was sober enough to carry out a phone call. Which was, as usual, a rare occurrence. Jim was worried about him, but he couldn’t let that control him. He had bigger problems, after all.

Gotham was a disaster. Penguin, one of the few manageable criminals, had disappeared off the map entirely. Barbara and Tabitha Galavan were quiet, a concept that was far more concerning than when they were loud and in the limelight. Ra’s al Ghul and Jeremiah were equally silent.

Of course, there were other criminals to worry about as well. Word around the city was that Riddler had risen from the dead. Zsasz was itching for more kills. A quarter of the city was covered in snow, likely Fries’ doing. Then, there was this masked child running around. It was insanity, not that Jim expected anything different. Gotham had always had an unhealthy dose of insanity.

So, there he sat, sitting at the kitchen table, plotting out maps with newly defined territories. With buildings and streets up for grabs, everyone had been quick to scout out their turf. He studied his work a moment, trying to decide what was most important for him to focus on next, when his phone buzzed against the table. Jim sighed and grabbed it, flipping it open and selecting the message.

It came from a number he didn’t recognize. Frowning, he scanned it quickly.

_ I have caught our stubborn phoenix, with feathers black as coal. Her rebirth will be short-lived, unless you beat my pistol. Tick-tock, Gordon. _

Jim’s heart sunk lower than it had in weeks. He read it a few more times and had to resist the urge to chuck the phone across the room.

Jim scrambled to his feet and climbed the stairs towards the study, where he knew Bruce and Lucius often sat around this time of day. Sure enough, there they were, discussing something at Bruce’s desk in hushed whispers. They quietened and turned as soon as Jim entered the room, breathing heavily in a panic.

“Jim? Is everything alright?” Lucius asked, brow furrowed. Jim just stared at him.

“I need you to track this number.” There was a pause as Jim held out his phone, Bruce and Lucius exchanging confused glances. “Nygma’s got Lee.”

 

Ed’s first sign came in the long stretch between Rotations Eleven and Twelve. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. The bashing on what Ed could only assume was the front door of the container was so loud, he could feel it vibrate through the floor. He met Riddler’s gaze from across the room and watched him nod at Ed’s sleeves. Ed returned the gesture and shimmied his arm, feeling the chicken bone fragments slide down and fall into his hand. As he juggled with the bones, bending over to use his mouth and hand in tandem to unlock his right hand, he heard the door slam open, shaking the container more violently.

“GCPD! Hands where I can see them!”

_ Jim _ . ‘I must admit,’ Riddler began, watching as Ed finally got both hands released and moved on to his feet. ‘I wasn’t sure if he would get it. Jimbo’s a tad dull sometimes.’

“Yeah, well, he’s here. Like  _ I knew _ he would be,” Ed muttered, gasping in relief as the ankle restraints came off. He heard commotion from outside his room, the sound of gunshots and running cars. He almost laughed. 

“Jim makes it too easy, doesn’t he? Leaving his car nice and hot for us.” Riddler rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘idiot,’ while motioning for Ed to get into position. ‘Position’ being his place beside the door, pressed against the wall.

It was suddenly quiet. There was the sound of footsteps closing in and nothing else. One set of footsteps, just like Ed had predicted.

“Jim, are you insane? You ain’t going in there alone, partner.” Ed grimaced, recognizing Harvey Bullock’s grating voice. 

“I agree, you don’t know what you’re facing.”  _ Bruce Wayne _ . Ed wanted to roll his eyes. Jim was bringing kids to fight his problems, now? Of course, Bruce wasn’t exactly a kid anymore.

“I can deal with Nygma alone. He may be smart, but he’s not strong.” Ed had to bite his tongue to keep from mocking the man, clenching his hands into fists. Still, Harvey and Bruce protested. Ed groaned as he heard Jim sigh, a sure-fire sign that he would yield. The footsteps of the other men fell in line with his and Ed bounced from foot to foot as they got closer. His legs were tight and cramped from what he could only assume were weeks of torture and imprisonment. Weeks that had felt like months.

Then came a strange beeping sound that Ed hadn’t heard before. It sounded almost like a radio frequency. Suddenly, something clicked into place and the door made that familiar unlocking sound. Were they somehow using a frequency to jam the signal to the lock on the door? 

Before Ed had time to think on it, the three men entered the room in a triangle formation. Bullock was wearing that ridiculous hat and looked as though he had just scooped himself up off of his bathroom floor. Jim’s hair was styled but his eyes were wide, desperate. Bruce was dressed in a ridiculous outfit made of all black with a strange, curved symbol on the front and a belt of different accessories. As soon as the three had crossed far enough into the room, Ed sprinted around the door and slammed it closed, shoving the bar latch in place. There were shouts of alarm from inside, but Ed just laughed, soaking in the banging noises. On the floor, he caught sight of a switchblade, which he pocketed. The women who were to stand guard were nowhere to be seen, the only evidence of their having been there a splatter of blood against the wall. Had they simply run? 

Ed certainly wasn’t going to stay and find out. He rushed forward to the exit of the container, laughing wildly as he burst forth into the night air. He was grateful it was dark outside, for he knew the intensity of the sun would hurt his eyes. He filled his lungs with the fresh air and wondered how he had survived in the stale environment of the container all that time.

For, that was what it was. Ed leapt into the car and put it in reverse, glancing at the place that had been his prison. It was one shipping unit of many in a line. He could taste salt in the air, could hear the wail of the foghorn. 

He was in the Narrows, not far from that cursed pier.

As Ed shifted the car into drive, there was a strange, inexplicable part of him that was certain Oswald was not far away.

 

“Gordon  _ what? _ ” Tabitha hissed, refusing to believe what she heard.

“Gordon, the cop, he—”

“We know who he is, dimwit,” Barbara cried, cutting the newbie off with a wave of her hand. She rolled her eyes, having told Tabitha on multiple occasions that the League of Shadows was more than capable of handling everything she required of them, that apprentices would be more of a hassle than a blessing. Had she listened? Of course not.

“Of course, Miss Kean, sorry, Miss Kean,” groveled the apprentice. Her high ponytail quivered with her shoulders as she knelt before the women. “Gordon took us by surprise—”

“Really? I would have had  _ no _ idea,” Tabitha groaned.

“Tabby, sweetie, let the poor thing finish. Look how she’s shaking!” Barbara encouraged, grinning at her companion who frowned, but waved the girl on.

“G… Gordon came in, yelling and hollering with two other guys. One was Bruce Wayne, and the other was some old guy. Maybe another police officer? I don’t know.” The girl spoke quickly, terrified of what would happen when she stopped. “They, um, they chased us out of there. We tried to fight back but Malorie was hit, and I needed to get her out of there, and…” She faded, glancing at the wild-haired girl who hissed beside her, hunched and gritting her teeth as she cradled the bullet-wound on her shoulder. Malorie quickly met her eyes and managed a small grin before wincing and looking away.

“I see,” said Tabitha, after an extended pause. Suddenly, her eyes caught on the girl’s belt. “Where’s your phone?”

The girl looked down in surprise and reached for her belt, shocked when her hand came away empty. “I-I… I swear I had it!” Tabitha stared at her, cold and calculating.

“Of course you did. And I presume Nygma is… what? Gone?” The thin, ponytailed girl didn’t meet her gaze. Tabitha sighed and turned away. “Have fun, Babs.”

Barbara blew Tabitha a kiss before she pulled out a gun and put a bullet in the center of both of the girls’ skulls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez, so many things. firstly, let me apologize for the long wait on this one. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but if i stare at it any longer i'm sure to go insane. i hope it is at least tolerable, even if it's my least favorite chapter i've written so far. i needed to get something out for you guys.  
> a bit of an explanation as to my absence: i got sick, had to work double shifts at my jobs and then went on a brief family vacation, so my life has been pretty hectic! i hope you guys understand.  
> as far as the next update goes, i'm afraid it will be fairly unpredictable again. i wish i could say i'd have it up before the end of this week, but i still have to pack for college, which starts next week, so yikes. no matter what, i guarantee that i won't let this fic die. you have my word.  
> next, what do you guys think of the spoilers we've been given about season 5? i tried to avoid them for a while because of this fic, but the DOG???? i don't know what to think. i'm curious what your takes on it have been!  
> i would like to give a bit of credit to my friend who helped me come up with some ideas for Ed's riddle, i'm terrible at coming up with them. she doesn't have an ao3 account, nor is she even a fan of gotham, so i'm pretty grateful that she helped me at all.  
> and, lastly, your comments and kudos are appreciated as always. i hope the next chapter will be something that i'm happier with, but in the mean time i hope you enjoy this one! let's celebrate that our evil boy is on the loose!
> 
> update: just a reminder! i have entered college now, so it might be some time before i am able to update this story and for that i apologize! i love you all.


	14. Un Jeu D’enfant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m!

Ed sat in the dark alley, waiting. Waiting for her to appear.

He had been monitoring the Sirens for the past couple days, hiding across the street, wearing dark clothes. He fiddled with his mask, a new construction. The soft silk felt calming and cool on his face. It felt good to wear contacts again, instead of messing around with his glasses. 

He felt at home in his own skin. He felt excited for what would come next. He felt alive and like an  _ individual _ and there was something so freeing about that. 

He adjusted the tie around his neck, wincing as it rubbed against the bruises. He pulled his hat down so it rested more firmly across his forehead. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the syringe and vials of Cytarabine and Diazepam Intensol. 

A chemotherapy drug, Cytarabine is used most commonly to treat cases of leukemia and non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Of course, it came with plenty of nasty, poison-like side-effects, because that’s what it, effectively, was: poison to kill cancer cells. The Diazepam would work as a simple sedative, easily mixed. Ed grinned, feeling the cold weight of the pistol at his belt, the same pistol he had used to steal the drugs from the pharmacy.

He hadn’t needed it, the place was abandoned and heavily ransacked, but he relished the power that came with holding it. 

He had, of course, been looking exclusively for a strong enough sedative to put into vapor form, but had no such luck in finding it. To be brilliant, however, meant to be phenomenal at compromise and manipulation, skills Ed had long worked to master.

Ed carefully inserted the syringe into the vials, drawing up the correct amounts of each drug. He needed his target to believe she was in true danger. With his un-injured hand, Ed tapped on the syringe gently to mix the substances before redirecting his attention to the building where the club was located.

On cue, the woman appeared.

Ed had known she would. She left the Sirens each afternoon at precisely the same time, 4:00 P.M., before getting in her car and driving deeper into the Narrows. As with the guard Ed had taken advantage of during his own imprisonment, this woman was clearly a lower-level guard. A new recruit, so to speak, who had received enough clearance to deal with the hostages. Meaning, she had enough clearance to deal with Oswald.

In following her, Ed had been able to understand not only the large warehouse in which Oswald was being kept, but also the surrounding landscape. Barbara and Tabitha’s entourage surrounded the place, likely with more guards having been added following Ed’s escape. As much as he might like to deny their strength, Ed knew not to underestimate either woman. 

Once, he had spotted Lee leaving the building. Despite having only begun monitoring his target for the past few days, Ed wasn’t about to risk waiting any longer and either getting caught, or having let something horrible happen to Oswald in his hesitation. 

He didn’t just have faith that his plan would work, he  _ knew _ it would work.

His target crossed the street. There was a light drizzle, and the sky was grey. The clouds had a tangible weight to them, looking like smooth grey stones. Ed felt that surge of anticipation as she drew closer and pushed himself further into the darkness. It was intoxicating, watching someone who felt so safe and unaware.

Close, closer, closest. Ed sprang from the darkness and covered her mouth with his gloved hand, using his other hand to plunge the needle into her neck. Her lips vibrated with a muffled scream and she kicked out her legs, thrashing wildly. Ed held her tighter, pulling the needle out and shoving it back into his pocket. He wasn’t afraid of it poking him—he wore many layers beneath his pants and had wrapped his thigh with thick fabric. 

The woman grew weaker in his grasp and he dragged her into the open doorway at the back of the alley. Within its confines was a broken bed frame with a ratty mattress and blanket, a chair, and numerous bottles and cans scattered across the floor. The bottles and cans came with the place, the rest Ed had retrieved from multiple scavenging trips. It had served him well, but he was more than ready to be rid of it

Ed winced with every step he took, feeling his ribs grind together as he threw her limp body into the chair. She forced her head up to look at him, terror in her eyes. He had to hold back his desire to laugh. Oh, how he had missed this.

“Who—what—”

“What has no hands, but might knock on your door, and you better open up if it does?”

The woman’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and widened. She let out a croak of a groan. “Riddler?”

“The answer was ‘an opportunity,’ but yes. The one and only,” Ed replied, waving his hands in a flourish. For some reason, it finally felt right to exist as both Edward Nygma and the Riddler. No longer was he uncomfortable being called one or the other. It was also true that he hadn’t seen his hallucination since breaking out of the shipping container. Everything felt simple, like the last puzzle piece had been pressed into place. It was an incredible feeling. “Now, you must be wondering what lovely little chemical is running through your system, hm?” Silence. “I have injected you with a deadly poison. Do what I say, and I may just give you the antidote.” Now, she began to open her mouth, but Ed was quick to interrupt. “Of course, if you’d like more information, I’d be willing to give it, but I’m afraid we don’t have much time until you…” he cut himself off, dragging his finger across his neck and miming death. 

He could almost feel her heartbeat grow faster. She swallowed, face paling evermore. It wouldn’t be too much longer until she was feeling the effects of her dosage. “You’re bluffing,” she whispered.

“You could believe that, I suppose. But do you really want to risk it? It should be kicking in quite soon.” Ed smiled as she moaned, clutching her stomach. Her face was practically green with nausea.

“If I am so low on time, how do you expect me to help you?” she hissed. Ed pressed a finger to his chin, as if thinking. He leaned closer to her, smelling the bile that built up in her throat.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Agree to do as I say, and I’ll provide you with a dose of the antidote strong enough to prolong your life, but not long enough to evade death altogether—that you’ll receive after the job is done. The choice is yours.”

There was a shift and Ed moved backwards just in time. The woman swayed back and forth before vomiting violently onto the cement floor. Ed chuckled and tapped his foot, feigning impatience. When she had finally emptied her stomach and ceased her dry heaving, she glared up at him, wiping away the tears that ran down her face.

“Fuck. Okay, okay, just, please. Please. I’ll do whatever you ask.” Her voice was rough from the trauma her throat had just faced. Ed clapped his hands together.

“Fantastic. I just knew you’d agree. You, my dear, are going to set our flightless bird free.” When she stared blankly at him, he rolled his eyes. “Penguin,” he clarified with a groan. “Get me Penguin and I give you my word, you will be saved. And, just to sweeten the deal—” 

The woman vomited again, before sobbing lightly. Ed waited for her to quiet and cleared his throat.

“To  _ sweeten _ the  _ deal _ , I’ll offer you a reward of twice your monthly salary with your current employers. Do as I say, and this rescue mission will be  _ un jeu d’enfant _ .” Yet again, the woman just blinked up at him. Ed shook his head in annoyance. Idiot. “ _ Child’s play _ ,” he translated. The woman took a moment to collect herself before answering with a slow, weak nod.

“I suppose I have no choice,” she answered, looking at the ground. Ed smirked and reached into his pocket, pulling out two pill capsules. They were empty, mere placebos, though it wasn’t as if it mattered. She wasn’t in any real danger, not yet anyway. He placed them in her shaking hands and motioned for her to swallow them. She did so quickly and greedily, wincing as they slid down her dry throat. She had to have known he wouldn’t offer her water. Ed stared at her for a moment, then spoke.

“Of course, if you tell anyone about this, you can be sure you will never receive your antidote. Oh, and for your information? These pills will only keep you alive for another, hm, ten hours or so? Tick-tock.”

 

Oswald sat on the hard, metal bed and stared blankly up at his tiny window. Earlier that day, he had gone through hell. A hell he had been through before, but that had not gotten any easier.

Strange had begun his  _ treatment _ , the same  _ treatment _ he had received all that time ago in Arkham. Oswald could feel his body shake within the confines of his straight-jacket, which he had, embarrassingly, soiled during the entire ordeal.

Being shocked wasn’t something one just got used to. Of course, Strange had added in another component: fear toxin. 

There wasn’t much that Oswald feared anymore. He had been beaten, stabbed, shot and even killed. His loved ones had been taken, tortured and murdered, all except for Ed.

Ed was all he had left, all he had to lose. And losing was something Oswald couldn’t stand.

In his fear toxin directed vision, he and Ed were back on that cursed pier. Oswald was forced to watch as Ed was beaten to death by faceless assailants and shoved into that unforgiving bay. Again and again, Ed would appear and again he would be killed. Oswald had screamed, pleaded for them to stop, to let him go, to take him instead. 

It was then that everything had stopped, that the reincarnated Ed had turned and stared at him. He had bled from his eyes, his mouth, his nose and, with a soulless, empty voice, had spoken.

_ “Can’t you see, Oswald? I’m already dead. I’m dead and I am glad, because I am finally free of you.” _

When the fear toxin had left his system, Oswald had found himself cowering in the corner of a dark room, bottoms soiled, Strange standing nearby and holding a clipboard. He was making staccato notes, humming to himself. Finally, he met Oswald’s tearful eyes.

_ “How interesting,” _ he had said.  _ “How interesting that you truly believe he is still alive.” _

Perhaps it was foolish of Oswald to hope. But hope was the only thing that kept him whole. He refused to listen to someone like Strange, refused to let himself break as he had before. Besides, there was something in his eyes that told another story. There was hesitancy. Oswald held onto that, prayed that Ed had not only understood his message, but used his beautiful mind to get himself out of that hell.

It was that thought that allowed Oswald passage through a hell of his own.

That didn’t stop him from cringing as the door creaked open. Oswald turned his head to see who it was and winced, body stiff from the shock and the painful position it was held in. 

A woman entered. A common visitor, she brought his food and was quiet, something Oswald was grateful for. This time, however, several things were wrong. 

Problem one: she locked the door behind her.

Problem two: her face was pale and her hands shook so violently, the plastic fork on the tray of food bounced off its surface. 

Problem three: she wore an oversized jacket. Oswald had worn enough of them to know how good they were for hiding weapons.

Problem four: she set the tray to the side and leaned close to his face. 

Problem five: her close proximity made Oswald  _ flinch _ . He shrank away from her and tried to use his foot to push himself backwards on the bed. She spoke fast, voice cracking like embers.

“When you do not know what I am, then I am something. But when you know what I am, then I am nothing. What am I?”

Oswald gasped, feeling tears form in his eyes. He smiled widely.

“A riddle,” he whispered.  _ That beautiful, brilliant man, _ he thought.

Without so much as a nod, the woman used shaking fingers to unbuckle his straight-jacket. When the straps were released, she helped him get his arms out. Oswald flexed his fingers, reveling in the delicious sensation of freedom. 

The woman reached under her jacket, pulling out a bundle of clothes. Fresh underwear. A collared shirt. Slim pants. Oswald shrugged them on and, as he began to button them, could smell the faint scent of Ed in the fabric. He grinned, unable to help himself: they must have been his, for they were certainly too big on Oswald.

A second later, the woman pulled out two  metal canisters that Oswald recognized to be smoke bombs. She passed one to him and he took it graciously, along with a small pistol. She nodded at him curtly and pulled out a pistol of her own before moving towards the door. Oswald followed suit, but couldn’t help noticing how she grabbed her stomach as if in pain. He tried not to ruminate long on why that might be. She was, after all, disposable. Oswald also noticed an ear-piece. He glanced at the cameras in the corner of his room, grinning at the blinking red light. Ed must have hacked the security system, and was likely delivering instructions as they went. The girl was probably entirely under his control, and that thought very much made Oswald want to ravish him with his lips.

Returning his attention to the situation at hand, Oswald watched as the woman unlocked and opened the door a crack, tossing the smoke bomb out into the hallway. He copied her and smiled at the familiar hissing sound of gas being released. 

First came several cries of alarm as a heavy fog filled the hallway. Next came the tug of the woman’s hand as Oswald was dragged down twisting corridors. Oswald was pulled down a flight of metal stairs, stumbling briefly as he felt his leg seize up in pain. The woman said nothing of his weakness and simply pulled him back up, forcing him to move faster. Oswald was equally grateful and annoyed. 

The smoke was clearer at the bottom of the stairs, and the woman groaned in pain. Oswald glanced at her and half rolled his eyes before catching sight of the door. The woman pointed towards it and they both quickened their pace, hearing the alarmed shouts of the guards who had noticed Oswald’s disappearance. 

Oswald slammed his shoulder into the door and was greeted by the dazzling sunlight of a late afternoon. He blinked several times, but was not allowed time to adjust. The woman rushed him across the street and into a building. Oswald glanced back and caught sight of three silhouettes in the doorway. 

“Go!” the woman hissed as they both climbed the stairs. In any other circumstance, Oswald would have offered an indignant jab, but felt it pointless in the moment. After climbing several flights, they burst onto the roof of the building, and Oswald gasped as he saw thick boards laid out to form bridges between the roofs of the next five buildings. Again, the woman yelled at him, desperation soaking her voice.

“Go, go! We don’t have much time!” she shrieked, bringing a hand to her head and wincing as she pulled her hair away with it. Oswald pushed himself forward, looking straight ahead as he hobbled quickly over the boards. The woman followed, knocking them down as they crossed safely to the other side. They landed with a satisfying clang into the alleyways below. 

Finally, they made it to the last building and hurried towards the door to the stairwell. Just as Oswald had slipped inside behind the woman, he heard footsteps grace a roof five buildings away. He sighed in relief as the door closed quietly behind them, but was again dragged downwards. He hissed each time he brought his leg down, breathing hard through his teeth. When the reached the bottom, Oswald didn’t think he would ever catch his breath.

The room they entered was a basement-level garage. Several cars were parked around the place, but it was a black SUV that caught Oswald’s eye. It was the only car that was running. Sure enough, the door opened to reveal a masked but recognizable Edward. Oswald frowned to see the speckling of bruises that now adorned his person, but still thought he looked as handsome as ever. Oswald ran forward, finding sudden stamina, and practically leapt into Ed’s arms. Ed pulled Oswald close to his chest, hugging him protectively.

“Thank God, thank God,” Oswald whispered, tightening their embrace. Ed yelped and Oswald hurried to let go, murmuring soft apologies. Ed kissed him on the forehead, hushing him, and turned his attention to the woman, who had dropped to her knees in front of them, heaving. It sounded as though she was trying to vomit, but nothing would come.

“The antidote,” she cried in between gags. “Please, I need it, fast!” Ed paused, leaning forward over Oswald.

“Sorry, darling,” he growled. “It’s nothing personal.”

He shot her twice in the head and she dropped to the ground, spasming. Oswald laughed, exhilarated at the spray of blood that washed over him. He kissed Ed deeply. It was a kiss that tasted of both their tears, and it ended too quickly. Ed held him away.

“Hold that thought,” he said, pressing one last kiss to Oswald’s cheek before shutting the side door and climbing into the driver’s seat. Oswald ignored his request, of course, and leaned over the console, kissing him anywhere he could reach. His lips left a bloody trail over Ed’s bruised skin as they peeled out of the garage and into the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long. i feel like i say this every time i write these notes!  
> this time, however, i feel as though my excuse is more valid than it has been: i'm back at college! as great as that might be for some reasons, it also makes my schedule incredibly hectic and unpredictable. i am not sure what updates will look like from here on, but i assure you i will not give up on this story.  
> as always, kudos and comments are appreciated, and as always i love any artwork you might be inspired to create for this fic.  
> i also hope you'll pardon the artistic liberties i took with ed's administrations of cytarabine. to reiterate the theme of something i've noted in previous chapters, i'm still in school, i'm not a doctor, and although i do my best to research, i am certain i make mistakes. also, the story needs to have an interesting narrative, something that i think (hope) i was able to accomplish here.  
> also, i speak english and spanish, but not french. hopefully that phrase is correct and i don't just feel very dumb here, haha.  
> i love you all, and hope you are having a fabulous day/night. oh, and you're welcome ;)
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: Hello all! I know it has been forever since I have updated, and I'm not sure if people who follow this story even check up on these notes, but I want to let you know where I'm at!  
> College has been insane, one of my craziest and busiest semesters so far. Please know that this story never left my mind, and I hope to get several more chapters out over the next month. My goal is one chapter a week, and hopefully I'll be able to stick to that. I have a planned direction/ending, so I pray that that's achievable. Thank you for your patience, and thank you for your constant support on this story. It means the world to me. I had hoped to have this finished before the premier of S5, but c'est la vie. I simply had no time. Pretty soon I'll have to change the tags of this piece from Canon Compliant to Canon Divergent!!!! So wild.


	15. Don't Say "I'm Sorry"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated m!

As he drove through the cold, dark night towards Oswald’s safehouse, it was difficult for Edward to keep his eyes on the road. It felt unreal, seeing Oswald in the seat beside him. He ached to hold him, but the burning in his chest and need to remain alert kept him attentive. The kisses, of course, had been a distraction. His neck tingled from the way Oswald’s lips had brushed against his bruises.

Ed had pushed him softly, smiling. Oswald chucked in return. Before Ed could react, Oswald was coming at him with a handkerchief, wiping the blood from his face and neck.

“Where did you even get that? I don’t remember packing that.” Ed complained, shifting away from the fabric before finally giving into Oswald’s gentle ministrations. 

“I tore it off of the horrid straight jacket they put me in,” Oswald replied. Ed looked at him incredulously. “You never know when you might need such a thing!”

Upon closer inspection, Ed did notice the material was different from any pocket square he had ever seen, though he had never expected Oswald to be so dependent on such a thing. 

“You didn’t seem to need one at the camp,” Ed teased. Oswald’s face turned pink and he pulled the cloth away, using it to clean up himself. “Oh come, Oswald, it was a joke.” A pause. “You look nice in my clothes,” Ed murmured. Oswald simply tsked, but released a small chuckle. Ed glanced at him warmly, and when he caught Oswald’s eyes, something new flickered in them. Pity? Ed sighed. 

Oswald’s hand returned, gently brushing hair out of Ed’s face. Ed tried desperately not to lean into the touch, cursing the itch of his mask that kept him from fully feeling Oswald’s calloused palm against his temple. Oswald’s hand drifted down to trace against the bruises that lined Ed’s jaw and neck, and Ed heard him inhale sharply.

“Oswald—”

“Pull over,” Oswald interrupted.

Ed tried again: “Oswald—”

“Pull over now, Ed.”

“Oswald you know I can’t. We don’t have time. We need to keep moving, I’m fine.” He glanced at Oswald who stared at him a moment longer before frowning and crossing his arms. Ed flashed him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but Oswald just shook his head, expression unreadable, and the two sat in silence. It seemed he couldn’t keep his hands off of Ed for long, though, as he snuck his hand over to Ed’s lap following the passage of a few quiet minutes. His hand rested gently on Ed’s thigh. Ed drove one-handed, gripping Oswald’s hand with his own. He brushed his thumb over Oswald’s knuckles to sooth him. Oswald leaned over the console to press a soft kiss to Ed’s clothed shoulder. It was feather-light and fearful, as if Oswald were scared that he would break him.

Oswald cleared his throat. “They showed me pictures of you, I… this is all my fault.” Ed glanced back over, squeezing Oswald’s hand.

“I’m okay,” he said softly.

“You’re not,” Oswald whispered. He squeezed Ed’s hand in return and looked out the window. Ed sighed and pulled into Oswald’s garage, parking the vehicle among the others. He moved to get out, but Oswald wouldn’t let go. He pulled Ed’s knuckles to his lips and kissed each one. Ed grinned and reluctantly pulled out of Oswald’s grasp, opening the door. He stepped outside and crossed quickly to open Oswald’s door for him. Ed winced at the ache in his muscles but gave Oswald a smile, masking his pain. Oswald carefully stepped out of the vehicle and followed him like a magnet into the passage leading to the Iceberg Lounge. Ed made sure to turn and lock the garage door behind him. 

The corridor was freezing and Ed breathed a sigh of relief as he and Oswald entered through the bar, greeted by warmth and light. Instantly, the four guards in the room ran to them, guns raised until they drew near enough to see who it was who had entered. The one closest to Oswald sputtered to apologize.

“I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry, we had no idea it was you, we never would have aimed our weapons in your direction if—” He broke off as Oswald raised his hand. 

“Enough,” he said softly, but with a concealed rage. “I don’t need your excuses, I need updates. As your complete  _ lack _ of intelligence was responsible for my fast departure and the compromised safety of the Lounge, I expect you to have information for me.” His voice was louder now, sharper, and the men, though much larger and more physically intimidating than Oswald, flinched. Ed admired him, feeling his face warm with pride as he looked at the way men feared Penguin. “Names, a log of operations, threats, finances, information on Lee Thompkins, Tabitha Galavan and Barbara Kean.  _ Something _ to make up for your incompetence.”

No one spoke and it was clear they had nothing to say. One of the men to his left scoffed, and Oswald whipped in his direction. “What, might I ask, is so funny?” he spat, eyes narrowed and brows drawn downward almost comically. Ed stood in silence, curious to see how this would play out.

“Well, it’s just…” The man paused, glancing at the other guards who shook their heads violently to warn him. He ignored their protests and continued. “You see, you blame us, but the way I see it, if you had left Riddle-boy to die, we wouldn’t have gotten ourselves into this mess.”

There was a rush of silence that came so strong, it felt loud in Edward’s ringing ears. He looked to Oswald and tried not to agree with the man, tried to value his own worth. Tried not to be annoyed by 'riddle-boy.' Oswald’s face turned red as it did when he was furious, and Ed hurried to calm him. They couldn’t afford to lose men right now. He placed a hand on Oswald's shoulder. Oswald turned to look at him, that blind rage in his eyes—Ed gulped, struggling not to be attracted to the fire he saw there. Ed squeezed his shoulder tighter, and Oswald looked down at the floor to steady himself before flashing a fake smile to the argumentative thug.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” he began, grinning from ear to ear as he saw the man shrink in on himself. In a flash, Oswald grabbed the knife stored on Ed’s belt and held it to the man’s neck. Ed hadn’t even had time to protest and, looking at the way the man’s eyes lit up in fear and the serious expression on Oswald’s face, he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway. “If you  _ ever _ question my decisions again,” he said, digging the knife in and drawing blood. “I’ll cut out your tongue.” He said nothing as he let that sink in, sliding the knife across the thug’s neck softly so as not to fatally harm him. In a beat, he pushed him back and the man stumbled before straightening up, grabbing at the cut in shock. 

Oswald brushed past him, waving Ed on with a slight twitch of his fingers. Ed followed, quietly, unable to stop grinning.

“Any other criticisms?” Oswald asked pointedly, glaring at the other three men who stood cautiously in his wake. Upon being met with silence, Oswald nodded. “Good. Now, back to work. I expect a full briefing prepared for tomorrow, preferably with a contact in hand. We need to gain control and make those women pay.” At that, Oswald snapped his fingers and the guards scurried off in different directions. The man Oswald had threatened glanced back like a wounded dog, but continued on his way. 

Ed started to chuckle, enamored by Oswald’s ferocity. Oswald glanced at him and grabbed his arm, tugging him past the velvet rope and upstairs to his living quarters. Oswald locked the door behind them, and Ed laughed. He winced as he felt his ribs grind together. 

Ed realized, as he turned to look at the room, that he had not in fact seen Oswald’s newest bedroom, hadn’t even known where it was. It was similarly decorated to the room Ed had stayed in while bedridden, but much, much larger. In fact, he felt as though he had never seen a bedroom quite so large. It was filled with with antiques, paintings, art pieces and sculptures, a museum’s worth. It was cluttered, and Ed felt scared to touch anything, overwhelmed by the wealth of history the single room held. He must have looked shocked, too, because Oswald was quick to explain.

“When I first found this place,” he began, “I saw a new vision for the Lounge. The bar and club itself would look much the same: same decor, same overall vibe. But the entrance hall would be turned into… a collection of oddities and works of art, as it were. I want people to come here and see something captivating. That, and I wanted a place to display some of the items from my father’s estate.”

Ed smiled, again feeling that pride well up inside of him. As he looked around once more, he saw things he recognized; a grandfather clock; a tea set; a painting. It was the painting that drew his eye, the very painting of him and Oswald that he had all but destroyed. He crossed to it and his smile faded, again feeling that twinge of self-loathing. “What a pity,” he mumbled, pressing his fingers to the bright green graffiti. Turning back towards the man of his affections, Ed began to speak. “You didn’t have to stick up for me. He had a point.” 

“Don’t you start, now,” Oswald groaned, hobbling over to Ed. He looked up into his eyes with a frown. “I will say it as many times as I have to: You are worth  _ saving _ , Edward Nygma.” Ed smiled and his cheeks reddened. 

“Regardless, I cannot claim that I was entirely opposed to your loyalty,” Ed said. Oswald took in Ed’s blush with a smirk, chuckling.

“You liked that?” He asked. Ed rolled his eyes, laughing and nodding before breaking into a painful coughing fit. It felt as though there was fire in his lungs and he was exhaling smoke. Oswald pressed a hand to Ed’s face, eyes falling in concern. Although he said nothing, he didn’t have to. Ed knew what was on his mind.

“None of this was your fault, Oswald.”

Oswald didn’t reply, instead turning his attention towards Ed’s clothing. He took the hat from off his head and set it on a nearby chair. Then, he worked on the knot that held Ed’s mask in place, removing that was well. When his hands grabbed hold of Ed’s tie, Ed placed his fingers over Oswald’s. 

“You don’t have to—” He broke off. He didn’t want Oswald to see his injuries, he didn’t want him to blame himself. Oswald searched his eyes.

“I do. I need to see it.”

What Ed had initially thought was pity was genuine concern. He was struck, in that moment, by just how much Oswald cared for him. He didn’t see him as weak, he didn’t feel bad for him, he felt bad about what had happened. He felt bad that he hadn’t been there to stop it. Ed kissed him, grabbing at the baby hairs on the back of his neck. Oswald sighed into him and kissed him back softly, little pecks that spoke of so much affection. Ed pressed the bridge of his nose to Oswald’s forehead and they breathed in tandem. He felt Oswald’s eyes flutter and smiled at the tickle of his eyelashes against his cheek.

“Okay,” he whispered, parting from Oswald and sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. He tried to keep his spine as straight as possible to limit the pressure on his ribs and removed his tie slowly. Oswald watched intently. His gaze wasn’t predatory, nowhere near it. It was the most gentle expression Ed had ever seen on Oswald’s face, one he was certain no one had seen before. Ed wished he had a camera to capture that moment forever.

Oswald made quick work of Ed’s jacket, vest and button-up. The gloves Ed had removed himself, along with his shoes and socks. Taking a deep breath, Ed pulled his undershirt over his head, revealing his heavily bruised chest. Lacerations were scattered across the surface of his skin, and Ed couldn’t meet Oswald’s eyes. To his relief, Oswald didn’t make a sound, and instead unbuttoned Ed’s pants and pulled them down carefully. Beneath them lay dark green boxers, several more bruises and scabs. Oswald didn’t make any move to remove the rest of his clothing so Ed didn’t either. 

“Lay down,” Oswald whispered. Ed complied, strangely happy at taking orders when they came from Oswald. The bed was soft and Ed sighed, feeling his back creak as the tension from his spine was released. Oswald sat next to him and examined each bruise and laceration. Ed watched as his eyes locked onto his chest, which was where the worst of it was. Truth be told, looking at it had made Ed feel sick. Covered in dried blood and purple skin, it was sight to behold, certainly. 

Ed watched Oswald’s every move, trying to keep his breath even. Gently, Oswald traced his fingers over the bruising along Ed’s jawline and neck, most of which had faded to a pinker hue with a few dark patches. He pressed his lips against the marks, whispering incoherent sentences against Ed’s skin. It felt nice and soft and Ed had to look away to keep from crying. 

“Kiss me,” Ed pleaded. Oswald kissed up his jaw and captured his lips for the briefest of moments before moving away again. Ed groaned, wanting more, and tried to sit up and take it. He cried out as his ribs ground together again, and felt tears prick at his eyes. Oswald placed a firm but soft hand against his shoulder, not pushing, but an order to stay still. Ed settled back against the bed, biting the inside of his cheek to distract from the pain. 

Oswald moved lower, directing his ministrations towards fresher wounds that had just begun to scab. Ed’s breath caught in his throat at the sensation, feeling pinpricks of pain mixed with warmth. Oswald moved his fingers down Ed’s side, and he let out a soft noise, shuddering at the gentle waves of pain and pleasure. Oswald kissed every inch of skin that was damaged, and whispered loving words over and over. Ed couldn’t stop himself from reaching and running his fingers through Oswald’s hair. 

They lay there for an hour, Oswald speaking only in hushed, soothing tones as he treasured Ed’s body. It was so soft, it was more comfortable than Ed had felt in weeks, that he began to drift into sleep. Before he lost consciousness, he felt the bed shift as Oswald turned off the lamp on the bedside table and pressed a kiss to Ed’s cheek. He whispered something that, although he couldn't process it, left Ed feeling happier than he could ever remember feeling.

 

Oswald could tell that Ed was beginning to fall asleep from the way his breath grew heavy and deep. Turning out the light, he kissed Edward gently. Hearing him sigh Oswald stared down at him, sad to find his face looking tired and thin. 

“I love you, Edward. I want you by my side until the day I die, and then with me still after death.” Oswald whispered, brushing curls off of Ed’s forehead. “They are going to pay for what they have done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, let me start off by saying i am SO sorry it has taken me a million years to post. college got really insane and difficult for the past couple of months, and i simply had no time to even think about working on this. it got so intense, in fact, that getting home for winter break was the first moment i had to do something fun for myself. i know these are excuses, but i hope that you will understand why it has taken so long. but i just HAD to get another chapter up before the season 5 premiere! how is everyone feeling about it? are we ready?  
> so that you all are aware, i will be putting updates in the notes of previous chapters, so if you don't hear from me for a while, please check those to see what is up! i do this because i hate it when authors post a new chapter just to give an update on why there aren't any new chapters lmao. anywho, i hope this will be helpful/encouraging, and remember that i really, truly am not going to give up on this fic. it means too much to me. plus, i know how it's going to end now ;)  
> i also would like to apologize that this chapter doesn't do a ton to advance the plot, but i will say that these boys needed their happy moment. i'm a sucker for hurt/comfort, hopefully y'all are too!  
> as always, comments and kudos are the greatest. oh, and if you want, you can follow my twitter (@dearlymad), where i post a bunch of dumb gotham crap and just... thoughts i guess? i'd love to get to know you guys better, as your support means so much to me.


	16. Unfinished Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated t!

Ed walked down the upstairs hallway of the Lounge beside Oswald, and couldn’t help but be reminded of his days as the man’s Chief of Staff. He glanced at the man fondly. The two stopped at a set of wide double-doors which led to the meeting room. In another moment of familiarity, Ed and Oswald turned to each other, silently surveying the other for imperfections on their clothing. Ed reached forward and adjusted Oswald’s tie, centering the knot and flattening out any folds. Oswald adjusted Ed’s collar so that it covered more of the redness along his neck. Ed inhaled as Oswald’s fingers brushed along a particularly sensitive spot, and they both froze, lost in the moment.

Ed broke it, smiling and nodding towards the door. Oswald nodded in return, pushing the door open and entering the meeting room. Ed’s eyes were drawn to the way Oswald limped, favoring his leg more than usual. Ed made a mental note to figure out a way to ease his pain. It would be difficult, considering Oswald’s stubborn nature. Shaking his head, Ed returned his attention to the chatty thugs sitting around the table in the center of the room. As soon as Oswald cleared his throat, the talking faded away into a professional silence. Ed stood, arms folded, at Oswald’s side, sporting a grin. 

“Report,” Oswald said firmly, glancing at his men. One man, a thin, older man that Ed recalled to be Arthur Penn, stood up nervously. Penn’s beady eyes glanced around frantically and his voice shook as he opened his mouth to speak. Ed had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure why Oswald tolerated his presence; how good of an accountant could he be? 

“I will not lie, Mr. Cobblepot, finances aren’t great.” He swallowed heavily, seeming to try and gauge Oswald’s reaction. Oswald moved his hands in a circular motion, exasperated, telling him to continue. “This building alone costs a fortune to run, and with the lack of food in the city, employees are struggling to keep their energy up. One waiter fainted while taking someone’s order, another chef cut himself pretty badly because he was so tired. Food supply in the kitchen has run so low that we’ve only been able to serve the bits of produce left in our cooler and costs have more than tripled. Not to mention the fact that there have been more than a few people asking around as to where you were.” Penn spoke quickly and quietly, as if he was struggling to breathe. 

“And?” Oswald replied. Penn’s brow furrowed, so he clarified. “What did you tell them?” he asked, tapping his foot.

“That you weren’t here, sir, that you were out on business,” Penn replied meekly. Oswald nodded his approval.

“Right,” he began, “Clearly this business is not, shall we say, lucrative at the moment. We don’t have the funding for the staff.” He thought a moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion “Continue business, fire half of our workers and send a team to scrounge up resources around the city.”

“But, sir—” Penn shouted with a start, eyes wide, before composing himself. “Sir, if I may, our workers truly have nowhere else to go. They will end up on the streets.”

“Not our problem,” Oswald replied, eyes narrowing. The two stared at each other for a moment longer before Penn yielded, nodding and jotting down some notes on a small pad of paper. “Next, I want you to get in contact with all of the arms dealers around the city. Bullets, guns, we are going to be the head of manufacturing for all of Gotham’s weaponry needs.”

Ed stared at Oswald in surprise. He hadn’t expected that move, but it was smart, with Gotham becoming an even more dangerous place to live. Penn, too, looked surprised, but wrote a few more things down and scurried off without another word. He was efficient and subordinate, Ed would give him that.

“Next!” Oswald barked.

On the other end of the table, a broad-shouldered man with a radio headset that Ed did not recognize stood and laid a manila folder on the table. He slid it to Oswald, who opened it to find pictures of Barbara, Tabitha and Lee along with their last known locations. The man cleared his throat. “All spotted in and around the Siren this morning, sir. We have men stationed in the surrounding buildings to monitor them.” As if to emphasize this point, the man pressed a button on his headset. “Update,” he said. On the other end, Ed could hear muffled words. 

“Galavan and Kean are in the club, Thompkins was last seen down the block, providing medical supplies to citizens. She hasn’t left the building.”

The man with the headset reiterated the information, though it was unnecessary. “That’s what I like to hear,” Oswald said, grinning. “We’ll make them pay.”

 

Tabitha tossed the knife from hand to hand, focusing on timing her breathing with the time it spent flying through the air. She inhaled sharply and let the blade sail across the room into the heavy wooden door. She picked up another, and another, doing the same, each blade less than a centimeter away from one another. They pierced through one of Penguin’s posters that she had found scattered around the city. Each time, she aimed for the spot between his eyes. She screamed, angry, sad, broken. She wanted to throw knives at the real man, not a copy of him. She picked up another knife and threw it.

The door opened. Barbara appeared around the corner, and the knife narrowly missed her, lodging itself into the wood next to her left eye. Tabitha groaned and looked away. She heard Barbara let out a small puff of air and heard the grinding sound of her pulling the knife out of the grain.

“Tabitha, sweetie, I know you’re upset—”

“Upset?  _ Upset? _ I’m furious,” Tabitha yelled, her eyes wild as she turned to look at Barbara. She knew she sounded crazy, but she didn’t care. “I’m going to kill both of them and string Penguin’s intestines over the street.” She yelled when she was met with Barbara’s cautious silence, and turned to the desk beside her, shoving papers off and watching them scatter across the floor like a flurry of feathers. Her fists clenched as she heard Barbara sigh. She wanted to hurt someone, and Barbara certainly wasn’t helping. Distracted by her own frustrations, Tabitha nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the click of Barbara’s heels beside her and felt the wrap of soft, warm arms around her middle. Tabitha instantly tried to struggle against Barbara’s grasp, which was surprisingly strong. She screamed for Barbara to let her go, but the woman didn’t budge. Before she knew it, of course, Tabitha was softening against her will, crying into Barbara’s embrace. Barbara brought a hand to Tabitha’s hair and hushed her with a coo. In any other situation, Tabitha would have found this demeaning, but it felt comforting in the moment.

“We’ll kill them. We’ll kill them, okay? I thought the so-called  ‘Doc’ would be a stronger asset, and I was wrong. Strange still hasn’t done anything to revert her condition, and she’s barely ever here. What’s more, she’s different from us. She doesn’t see Gotham like we do. She sees it as something worth saving, while you and I, we see it as a vision to rebuild.” Barbara stretched an arm out in front of her dramatically and Tabitha laughed, sniffing. Barbara kissed her on the cheek. Tabitha looked at her for a moment before kissing her deeply. She felt lost, confused, she didn’t know what to do. She missed Butch, missed him more than anything, but no one understood her as much as Barbara did.

“I love it when you agree with me,” Tabitha said, breathless as she pulled Barbara back in for more, a small smile on her lips.

 

“Do you like it?” Ed asked, standing and giving Oswald space to move around. He watched as Oswald put pressure on his bad leg, now assisted by the leather brace.

“Is this where you were all day?” Oswald asked, looking at Ed with wonder in his eyes. Ed nodded. Oswald walked forward tentatively and Ed grinned as he watched his face light up in surprise. More confident, Oswald began to walk around the room, his limp far less pronounced. “Ed, I…” His voice broke off as he looked down at the brace in shock. “I, I don’t know what to say. It’s  _ incredible _ .” Ed beamed. “Thank you. I haven’t felt this good since, well, I can’t even remember!” Oswald practically danced forward, placing a kiss on Ed’s cheek. Ed felt his face warm where Oswald’s lips had touched him.

Ed was practically giddy that Oswald had enjoyed the gift. He had designed it in secret following the meeting. He used Oswald’s exact measurements, having remembered them from his days as Chief of Staff; Oswald had often requested that Ed go to the tailor with him. The brace was produced in the city by an expert leatherworker. The man had been more than a little hesitant to help him pro bono, but the minute Ed had produced the pistol from his belt, he was far more cooperative. Of course he had killed him after the job was done.

“You haven’t even seen the best part. Not only is it made of a flexible yet strong leather, but,” Ed spoke quickly in glee, bending down to point out a strap, “this here? This is for a blade. It has a quick-release function, so it is easy to remove from the brace itself, is hidden and will not fall out.” Oswald started to laugh and pulled a knife from his pocket. He handed it to Ed, who showed him how to put it in and take it out of the brace with ease. Ed watched as Oswald practiced, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“It’s perfect, Ed. Truly.” Oswald kissed him softly, eyes fluttering closed. Ed was all teeth, unable to stop from smiling. They both laughed into the kiss, and Oswald placed a hand on Ed’s chest to separate them. “As much as I would love to continue this, I need to call in a favor.” Oswald turned and started to walk towards the landline hanging on the wall. Ed froze.

“I hope you don’t mean from Jim Gordon,” Ed said quietly. Oswald spun around.

“What do you mean? Why not?” Oswald said, brows drawn inward.

“Ah, well,” Ed said sheepishly, chuckling. “I may have convinced him that I kidnapped Lee in order to escape and then locked him in the shipping container.”

 

“Hush,” Lee said, pressing a hand to Jim’s face. Jim flinched. How he ached to hold her. To his surprise, Lee laughed. The laugh itself was missing its usual anger. “How do you get yourself into these problems, hm?” she asked, brushing hair out of his eyes. Jim smiled slightly, then his face fell.  _ Focus _ , he chided himself. 

“So, Nygma used me, then?” Jim said, eyes following Lee’s. She sighed and nodded, pulling away from him and standing up. She had brought Jim to a new place, another makeshift hospital. He chose not to comment on the fact that the GCPD could distribute the supplies more widely than she ever could. He chose to take what kindness of her’s he could get.

Lee remained quiet. Then: “Why did you go, Jim? Why did you try to save me?”

“I’ll always try to save you. Always,” Jim answered without hesitation. He loved her, he always would. She looked at the ground. Jim held his head high, determined not to show weakness towards Lee’s lack of response. Finally, she sighed. When Jim looked closer, he saw that her eyes were watery.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t think there is any part of the Lee Thompkins you fell in love with left.”

“That’s not true,” Jim insisted, clenching his hands into fists to keep from touching her. “Even after everything, you’re still you. Certainly I don’t agree with everything you have done, and I know the same goes for you. Still, we are both different people. We both have made decisions we regret and have done things that are illogical, but I know you, Lee. You are  _ good _ .” Lee met his gaze. They sat there for what felt like hours. Jim felt like a magnet being held back from his pair. In a flash, so sudden after the long pause, Lee bent down to kiss him. He froze, until he felt her hand find his. He felt like singing, and intertwined their fingers. With his other hand, he reached up and cupped her cheek gently, kissing her desperately.

She pulled away too quickly. She stared down at their hands, and Jim silently pleaded for to not let go. She didn’t.

“The only reason I joined Tabitha and Barbara is because they were going to help me use Oswald as a bargaining chip. I’m dying, Jim. Something Strange did to me when he was reviving me, it’s eating away at me from the inside. He claims he is working on a serum to reverse my condition, but he’s stalling. I’m not sure there is a way.”

Jim felt his heart sink. He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone started to ring. He tore his eyes away from Lee, hands shaking as he pulled the phone from his pocket. It was a number he didn’t recognize, which was never a good thing. He moved to put his phone away, when Lee squeezed his hand.

“Answer it,” she said.

Jim frowned, but did as she said. Before he could even say hello, he heard a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hello, Jim. I’m sure you’re quite busy with Ms. Thompkins, but I have a proposition for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooo we on a roll now boys!  
> can we TALK about that season premiere? it was WILD. and Oswald's ROMPER, I CAN'T.  
> thoughts on the Tabitha situation? thoughts on everything? thoughts on dumpster boi Ed?  
> as a way to pay homage to the relationships we stan, i hope you'll forgive that this chapter is more than just our boys. also, i got the thought of Ed designing the leg brace for Os instead of that random lady, and i could not get that out of my head, sooooo there we go.  
> not sure when the next update will be, as always. i need to figure out a couple of things, as i'm waging a bit of a war with myself about how the next chapter is going to play out, but i have some solid ideas. i have several ideas that are going to meld aspects of s5 with this fic, as i'm feeling very inspired atm.  
> i hope you will stick by me and this fic even though the 5th season has begun!!!  
> aaaand as always, kudos and comments are always appreciated. love you guys!
> 
> UPDATE: hello all! I am back at college, which means it may be difficult to update again for a bit. I'll try to if I can, and if not, i will have something for mid-march(ish)  
> thank you for your patience!! ♡


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